Celeste's Journal

How did that happen?  My last post was New Year's 1869 and now it's New Year's 1870?  My life picked up speed.  I gained ten new customers.  My business is flourishing. My customers on the whole treat me with decency but there will be no friendships that develop through them.  It is very easy to tell that they look down on my past but they like my sewing skills better than they hate my "scandalous" past.  I use that word because I overheard a customer use it.  Blake says that I need to have a "Thick skin."  I guess that means that I don't let their snide, sometimes downright rude comments reach my heart to hurt it.

I am "mothering," Jamie and Eric every chance that I get.  Sometimes Blake brings them to me and they stay for the weekend.  Sometimes I go to the ranch and stay there for a day or two.  I think of those precious boys every waking minute.  I love them both so much. 

Eric is becoming a man...and he's not even a teenager yet.  Some of the things he says startle me they are so mature for his age.  He's quite brilliant.  I started listening to him read but wound up being taught how to read by him!  Remarkable...I think he will be a terrific teacher some day.

Jamie...oh sweet Jamie.  He's chubby, adorable, and I could just kiss his precious little face all day.  He is so loving, so open, so caring.  He will toddle over to me (he still has a head bigger than his feet). and throw his arms around me.  He says, "I wuv you Maman."  Sometimes he says in his toddler speak "Jetaime Maman."  I love to hear his precious little boy voice say those words in French. 

Blake...he is in love with me.  He told me so yesterday.  I went to the traditional New Year's Eve party last night at the ranch.  I asked Blake to bring me home because I just had to be in my own space to write about this remarkable happening.

Blake, Red, and I were busy all day getting ready for the party.  At one point in the afternoon Blake took me by the hand and said, "Come with me Celly."  (It was just last week that he started calling me by the pet name my family used, and my friends use).

He led me out of the house and down a trail that led to a tiny creek that winds through his ranch.  It's beautiful there, colored by wintry wonder.  There were no leaves on trees...the branches reached their bare branches towards the heavens.  Diamond frost glittered everything.  The sun came out from behind enormous cloud banks (as if on cue), and the day was transformed from gray winter to diamond brilliance. 

Then, amazing thing, a rainbow spread across the sky.  I LOVE rainbows.  They are my favorite color.  I know that some people would say, "But rainbows are all the colors."  Then I would say, "That IS my favorite...ALL the colors."

Blake pulled me into his strong, wonderful arms.  He just stood there holding me close.  I relished the safe feeling.  I breathed him in...that masculine smell that partially defines Blake.  It's a tad of peppermint (he loves peppermint or spearmint tea), a tad of wine, (he and I are going to begin a line of fine wines this spring, he loves wine as I do), a hint of soap, (I sometimes help Red make their soap), and then there's this musky, masculine smell that I can't even begin to describe.

Blake gently held my face and looking into my eyes he said, "Je ta dore Celeste.  Jetaime.  I love you."  He then kissed me.  Oh what a kiss.  I felt as though my body would melt from the fire I felt.  I have NEVER felt like that before.

I was slightly disappointed that after saying that and kissing me he simply led me back to the kitchen to finish getting ready for the party.  A tiny part of me thought, maybe, just maybe he's going to propose.  Then I can be a full-time Maman to the boys, and I will have the joy of spending my life with Blake as his wife.

Still, he loves me!  The wonder of that resonates through my soul.  I am filled with joy as I contemplate what that means. 

I love Blake so very much.  I try to show him my love in every way that I can.  I sew for him.  I cook for him.  I massage his stiff neck, and back. I try to convince myself that if he never proposes to me, this is enough.  I can live this way, being loved, but having my own world and space, away from my beloved.  Loving but not completely...can I really live that way?

No...I will not think this negative thing...not tonight (a glance at the clock just informed me that it's not night anymore but morning.  5 a.m. when did that happen?)   So I must sleep for a couple of hours.  Blake will come to pick me up at 8 a.m.  We are going to a party that is being held in the new city building.  The entire town is invited. 

Celeste's Post

I need a safe place to vent my feelings right now.  This journal will be the receiver of my latest frustrations with Lucille Bond.  I had a lovely party to thank Blake, Red, and Willard Bond for making my shop possible.  I had made nice presents for each...monogrammed handkerchiefs for the men, and monogrammed handkerchiefs with crocheted lace for Lucille.

I was very disappointed when Willard came alone.  When I inquired about Lucille, Willard said, "Oh Lucille is so sorry that she couldn't be here.  She was feeling very ill.  I think she said a chest cold.  Yes, I believe that was it."

I was pretty certain that he was lying to cover up the fact that Lucille wouldn't come.  So I said nothing more other than to make all my guests welcome.  We had a lovely dinner but it was a little strange to have three men and me.  Oh journal you know that I have been around far too many men, but these were all three wonderful, decent men, and what a joy it was to be with them.

I sang them a little thanksgiving song that I wrote for them in French.  I think French is a much prettier language than English and I will teach Eric and Jamie French as they grow up.  I have already started.

Then I gave them each my present.  I gave Lucille's to Willard and asked him to give them to her, and said to tell her to feel better.

I was not surprised the next day to see Lucille dressed in all her finery heading down to the Calkington Ladies Aid Society.  She didn't appear to be in the least sick.  Willard Bond is a very intelligent, kind, gentleman but his wife...she is not kind or nice.

It's strange to me.  Lucille was also orphaned as her family made their way to this place.  Yet somehow she thinks that she's better than me.  If she had been greeted by Madame LeRouge instead of saved by Willard Bond (he roped her and pulled her out of a prickly patch) her life would have been very, very different.

Well, I must not waste any more coal oil.  I have to pay the rent tomorrow, and my wages were a little low this last week.  Goodnight.

New Year's Eve, Celeste's Journal

New Year's Eve and a New Year 1869

I spent the night at the Drifting Anchor Ranch tonight.  Blake always has an enormous party on New Year's Eve.  I say enormous but that is a relative thing.  It is enormous for the tiny town of Calkington.  All of the men that work for Blake attend, and bring girlfriends.  There are some Indians that live nearby.  They don't come to every holiday celebration but they were there last night.  The residents of the town were all there.

Lucille Bond is the customer who frequents my shop the most often.  She has so many dresses I don't know how she has a closet big enough to fit them.  It is not mine to judge but secretly I believe that she feels very insecure about herself so she does her best to hide her feelings of inadequacy behind her fancy clothes.

Lucille hates me, but every time she wears one of the dresses I have made for her I gain a new customer.  It's ironic that she hates me and yet loves my clothes so much that she is a walking advertisement for my work.

Lucille's husband, Willard Bond, is the dearest man.  He was such a huge help to me when I ran away from Madame and hid in Blake's wagon.  At first Lucille did not want to use my shop but Willard insisted. 

Jamie is growing into the cutest little bumble bee.  His head is still larger than his tiny feet, yet he insists on running everywhere that he goes.  He falls a lot.  I rarely see him without a bump, bruise or cut.  Red even had to sew up one cut on Jamie's face.  Jamie fell on a sharp rock and sliced a nasty hole in his cheek.  Red said that when Jamie is a young man it will attract more young women.  He is probably right.

We danced, sang, and enjoyed ourselves until midnight.  Then everyone left.  It took another two hours to say goodbye to everyone, and then clean up.  Red and I could never go to sleep with a mess in our homes.  Blake put the boys to bed, and then he helped.

I am so in love with Blake Calkin.  I didn't think he was really handsome when I first me him.  I've changed my mind.  He has the most expressive face.  I can see emotions move across his face like a storm moving across the horizon.  His eyes go from black as the darkest night when he is upset, to warm and golden loving.  When he smiles he has the most adorable dimples.  Our boys have that trait as well.  I say, "our boys," because they are mine now as well.  Blake actually calls on me to help with them.  I love them so much. 

Their love gives me a tiny bit of comfort in the loss of my precious Angel.  Oh you don't replace one love for another.  I don't quit loving Angela because I love the boys.  Yet having them need me, thinking about them, doing for them whenever I can fills a huge hole that has been in my heart since I lost my Angel.

Well I can't quit yawning.  I was too wound up to sleep even though my clock says that it's 3:30 a.m. but I think I can sleep now.  I stayed at the ranch after the party because it was too late, or early to go home.  With both men here I hope that the gossiping tongues of Calkington will be still.  I suppose that is too much to hope for.  Sometimes I feel like, "Oh well, if they are going to stab me in the back, I might as well do something to earn their gossip!" 

Celeste's Journal

Thanksgiving Day 1868

I haven't written in my journal this month.  Life has been so hectic.  With the holidays approaching the wealthiest women in town have all requested a dress or two for themselves and their children.  I admit that I HATE sewing Buster Brown suits for little boys.  I know the little boys will despise wearing them, and will destroy the white collar, and shirt within a day. 

I LOVE making beautiful dresses.  I LOVE reading the two magazine subscriptions that Blake gave me last year for Christmas.  One is from Paris and some of the styles are ridiculously gaudy.  The other comes from New York.  I look at these magazines, and make gowns that are lovely, yet not made with 20 yards of fabric, ruffles, and ribbons.  I also design in such a way that I emphasize each woman's good features and de-emphasize their less than positive features.  I love to make women's suits.  I like blouses to be feminine, soft, crepe du chine, silk, or lined chiffon.  (I can't make a chiffon blouse without a lining, scandalous...hee hee)

So, I have sat day after day, night after night sewing, designing, and selling.  My little shop is quite prosperous right now.  I am surprised.  I know that the women gossip about me behind my back.  Many of them are extremely rude to me.  They treat me as though I am the social equivalent of a slave.  I remember all too well what being a slave felt like.

I do my best to "Act not React," as my beloved Maman taught me all through childhood.  As a very young girl another young girl attacked me.  She hit me and took away my beloved shawl that Maman had made me.  I punched and hit as well as I could.  I was just seven and tiny for my age. 

When I came home, bruised, battered, crying, and shawlless Maman greeted me at the door.  She held me close and let me sob soggily my story.  She did not say one word.  First she cleaned me up at the sink, and smoothed down my messy hair.

Next she led me into the kitchen.  It was filled with the odor of fresh bread.  Slicing me a huge, warm piece, she slathered on homemade butter, and raspberry jam.  Oh her jam was divine.  That piece of bread went a long way to soothing my wounded spirit.

Bread finished I insisted stoutly that Maman go directly to Sophie's house and demand my shawl back.  Maman was silent for a long moment. 

When the silence stretched out so long that I was afraid she had gone to sleep I stood up.  She stood up as well.  Taking my hand in hers she told me to wait by the front door. 

I didn't wait long.  Maman came out of her bedroom with a tissue wrapped package.  "Maman, what is your package?" 

She smiled brightly at me.  "You will see little one, you will see."

When we arrived at Sophie's I noticed that the house was leaning to one side.  Paint had not come close to the crooked old boards in a very long time.  There was a goat tethered in the front yard bleating to be milked.  The only plants growing in the dust of the yard were weeds. 

When Maman knocked nobody answered the door for a very long time.  Finally the door was opened.  The woman who opened the door had no teeth.  Her hair was sparse on her head.  She was bent almost in half.  Her back was so twisted and knotted I could not understand how she could walk at all.

Sophie came to the door to help her Maman balance.  When she saw Maman and me she looked frightened.  Maman said, "Maria, my girl Celeste gave Sophie her shawl today.  Celeste wanted to share with Sophie.  Sophie is such a sweet girl and she and Celeste have become great friends. 

Sophie had been busily digging a hole in the dirt floor with her bare foot.  When Maman made that comment her head came up quickly. 

I turned to look at Maman with astonishment.  She was lying.  I was never permitted to lie, how could Maman tell such a falsehood with such sincerity.

"Maria, the shawl that Celeste gave Sophie is worn and tattered.  Could I please trade it for this?"  Maman opened her package and inside was a newly knitted shawl.  It was a lovely warm red.  She put it gently around Sophie's thin shoulders. 

Sophie looked up at Maman in shock.  Her mouth was wide but no sound came out.  Her Maman chided gently, "Sophie what do you tell Mademoiselle Benoit?"  "Merci Beaucoup, Merci, Merci."

Sophie walked across the one room structure.  She picked up my shawl and brought it to me.

We walked home again in silence.  Finally I was too curious to be still any longer.  Indignantly I said, "Maman, she stole my shawl.  Why would you reward her for stealing?  In addition, you lied.  Sophie and I are not friends.  She beat me up."

Maman smiled at me.  "Celeste Sophie and her Maman lost her Papa last year.  He was very young when he died.  You have seen how bent Sophie's Maman is.  She is in constant pain.  She can't work.  So they live as paupers, rarely do they have enough to eat.  Their house is cold all the time.  Sophie has to keep the house clean, her Maman can't.  I have no doubt that Sophie wanted your shawl because she was very, very cold.  I doubt that they have much wood to burn in their fire."

"What you had was a chance.  The chance was either to let the fight, and stealing make you angry and bitter, then you would be REacting.  Or you could reach a little higher in your nature and you could ACT.  In other words, you would NOT let Sophie's actions determine how YOU would behave."

I miss you Maman.  Thank you for being such a wonderful teacher, Maman, and friend.

Celeste's Journal

September 25, 1868

Blake came for date night tonight.  He asked if we could go to the ranch for our date.  There had been another shipwreck.  The space where the Pacific ocean meets the Columbia river is infamous for all of the wrecks that happen there.  The current of the ocean causes the sand to shift constantly.  Even people who have traversed the passage for years have troubles with that portion. 

Captain George Flavel and Blake both were very good at piloting through the troubled waters.  Yet Blake's First Mate was not so good.  That is why the Drifting Anchor Ranch has its name.  The Mate did NOT set the anchor properly.  So they ran aground.  Blake was grateful that none of the crew was hurt, and the ship was not seriously damaged. 

He found the space and place that he had been looking for.  He wanted to go on land and build a ranch, a place for him to marry and have a family.

Blake was really shook up when he came to get me.  He said that all of the men that worked for him, and he and Red had been taking turns all day trying to save the crew and passengers of a ship bound for San Francisco.  They had managed to save most of the lives aboard but they lost four people.  One of the people they lost was a 4 year old child.  It's hardest for Blake when a child dies.  He always feels that the world has lost an important potential.

I did my best to cheer Blake up.  When we got to the ranch I was a little nervous about seeing Red after his last visit to me.  I needn't have worried.  Both Red and Blake were so sad about the shipwreck and loss of life that they weren't even thinking about me.

I was amazed at how quickly Red's beard had grown back.  He looks just as scruffy as usual again.  I couldn't even get a smile out of him.

Eric, and Jamie were both cranky.  It always amazes me how susceptible children are to the moods of the adults around them.  So, I organized a taffy pull.  I made dinner for all of us.  Then after dinner I read the boys a story and sang to them.  They both were asleep quickly.

Blake took me for a moonlight drive home.  He stopped at Carter's Creek.  We sat on a large boulder by the water.  He held me tight with both of his arms around me.  I could have sat there all night.  The moon came up, bold and bright.  Stars shone brilliantly through the velvety black of night.  Finally Blake leaned down and kissed me.  I never wanted him to stop.  My heart raced, and I felt as though all of my life had been worth the struggle for just that very moment.

Afterwards he didn't say a word.  He just led me by the hand back to the wagon.  We drove to my shop silently.  He helped me down from the wagon.  He kissed me on the cheek, got in the wagon and left, without saying a word.  How can a night be both sad and joyous?  Yet it was.

Celeste's Journal

September, 21, 1868

Red came to my door.  At least I think it was Red.  He was downright dapper.  Gone were his scraggly whiskers.  His face shiny with the freshness of a new shave.  His hair was neatly trimmed, his curls held in the rigid embrace of some barber's solution.  His face was as red as his hair.  In his hands was a box of chocolates. 

I blinked twice with disbelief.  Red calling on me?  Red was my brother.  I had not a single hint of romantic interest in Red.  I was frightened that his appearance would ruin our friendship. 

I pulled Red inside.  He sat nervously in my shop.  He was silent for a long moment.  Finally clearing his throat he said, "Celeste, is there any chance for me, I mean do you think..."  His beautiful eyes fastened on my face.

I breathed deeply trying to think of the right words to say that would not ruin our previous friendship. 

"Chocolates, I bought them for you." 

"Thank you Red.  I just..."

That's all that I got out.  Red said, "This was a mistake.  I can see by your expression that you have no interest in me romantically.  Daggone it Celeste, why do you have to be so beautiful inside and out?  It's no surprise that any man would have a hard time not holding you and kissing you."

"That damn Blake Calkington!  I know that you're falling in love with him.  What's more I'm pretty certain that he's in love with you as well.  He's convinced himself so fully of his own bad luck that he's pretty close to missing out on the greatest adventure that life could give him, YOU!"

Red stood up.  He strode to the door.  Opening it he blew a kiss in Celeste's direction.  "Don't worry Celeste, I will never mention this visit.  Please don't tell anyone that I was here this evening.  I'm going to tell everybody that I went to Astoria to see one of them fancy plays."  Red turned and winked at Celeste, "It could happen.  Someday I may actually get culture."  Dropping his hat and dipping low Red bowed to me. 

Putting his hat firmly on his head he closed my door.   I heard the pounding hooves of a galloping horse riding away.

I sat there for a long moment staring at the door.  Then I opened the ribbon tied box and ate a chocolate.

Celeste's Journal

September 21, 1868


I went to Emma's Cafe with Blake tonight.  He is such a gentleman.  I love the little things that he does that speak to his refined character.  He holds the door for me so that I can enter a room before him.  He stands on the outside as we walk.  This means that on a rainy night such as tonight if a buggy or wagon goes by he gets splashed while I remain dry.

Blake told me tonight about his childhood.  He has never shared that story with me before.  I was touched, and honored that he felt safe sharing such sadness.  What a monster his Father was.  Blake was convinced that his Father killed his Mother.  I can not disagree with him after listening to the way that his horrid Father beat her down.

It's even more of a testament to Blake's sterling character that he has broken out of that brutal, abusive mold that defined his Father.  I thought that he must have learned about being a gentleman from his Father.  That is simply not the case.  His Mother did teach him many things about being a kind, chivalrous man.  She died far too young.

Blake courageously goes about his life not letting his past pull him down.  He knows that the brutalized, beaten, young boy is still inside him, but he is strong, in spite of this. 

Sigh, I'm in love.  It's both beautiful, and terrible.  Beautiful because he is so worthy of love this man who has built The Drifting Anchor Ranch, and a family from the ground up.  Terrible because I fear that he will never overcome his superstitions about his wife's deaths. 

Well such a sad thought is not what I wish to take with me into my dreams.  I try very hard each night before I go to sleep to put pleasant, joyous, thoughts in my mind.  When I do this I do not have the nightmare as often.  The nightmare when I am back in Madame LeRouge's. 

Tonight I wish to remember working with my Father.  I remember the sun which felt warm and caressing on my back as I leaned to clip off bunches of lush grapes.  Papa always smelled clean, like fresh air, and grapes.  Even when he had spent the entire day hard at physical labor he  smelled strong but fresh.

Yes Papa as I drift off to sleep I will see you in my dreams, strong, handsome, vital, and loving.

Celeste's Journal

Late at Night

I can't sleep but I'm so tired that I can't even remember what day it is.  I know that it's September (the leaves outside my window attest to that fact) but I don't remember the date.  I don't think it matters very much after all I'm writing this journal entry for myself.  I can't sleep, I'm too tired to sew, and I'm just plain bored with all the books that I own.

Blake kissed me.  It began as a random accident, but quickly became a raging fire.  I always knew that kissing Blake would be amazing.  I'm not sure I understood, just HOW amazing.  I felt sensations that I didn't know existed while I kissed him.

I hoped that after that first kissing we would kiss regularly.  He has not kissed me again since.  Every time that we get together I hope for another earth shaking kiss.  Not once.  I can't decide which was more frustrating, going for years wondering what it would be like to kiss him, or knowing what it is like to kiss him and having him not repeat the experience.

I'm going to change the subject because just thinking about it is making it impossible for me to relax enough to sleep.

Lucille Bond.  Well that is a topic that I should NEVER think about because I can feel my muscles tighten just writing her name down.  One incident and then I will not give her the power of my thoughts.

I don't know why Lucille hates me.  Well actually I do know why.  Lucille LOVED Blake's first wife Ardis.  Ardis lived with Lucille and Willis when she first came to Calkington.  They had already built a lovely frame house with two bedrooms.  Their room was upstairs.  Ardis was downstairs.  To pay for her rent and food she helped Lucille cook, clean, and sew.  Lucille and Ardis were closer than many sisters are.

When Ardis died soon after Eric's birth Lucille was devastated.  It took her years to accept Eric.  She hated him because she blamed the precious babe for Ardis' death.

When Blake remarried Lucille hated her as well.  Lucille's grandparents were massacred by Indians.  Sarah was from a local tribe called "The People."  So Lucille hated Sarah in every way possible.  Lucille wants absolutely nothing to do with Jamie.  She has finally grown more forgiving towards Eric but won't even look at Jamie.

Lucille was furious when she discovered that Willard (her husband the bank president) had given Blake a loan for me to build my business.  She actually told me once that if I did not make such excellent French style gowns she would be tempted to burn my building to the ground so that I would have to leave.  She also said that Willard, "Had no business giving a whore a loan even with Blake's ranch as colaterol."

Lucille has softened just a tiny bit since she and Willard had two babies.  They are beautiful girls, Wilhelmina (Lucille was positive that both girls would be boys.  She had decided on male names.  When they were girls she changed them accordingly.  So Willard Jr. became Wilhelmina Elizabeth.  Robert became Roberta and called Bertie.

It is funny to watched Lucille walk down the boardwalk with their girls.  She looks like a proud Mama Duck with her two chicks following.  She has gotten a great deal heavier since she had the babies.  That has left her waddling a bit.  (Oh, I'm ashamed of myself for that last thought.  OK, the thought wasn't worthy of me but I'm sitting here with a silly grin on my face thinking about it.)

Yawn...hallelujah I'm finally sleepy.  So good night world.  I'll see you again in the morning.

A First For Me

I spoke at an adult group tonight about writing, my series, and some of the subject matter covered in my series.  Since it was the very first time that I did so I think that it went ok....not great...just ok.  I sang my original composition from my first book, "Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch." In the book Jamie writes a song and sings it to Beth for a Christmas present.  One of these days I will publish the song in my blog.

I was so nervous that I kept jumping around in my outline.  I didn't know most of the people in the group.  They all listened attentively, and no one fell asleep so I took that as a positive sign!

We sat outside in the foothills of a beautiful mountain range in the Western United States.  I couldn't help but remember that most of the beginnings of my books started right here, in this beautiful place.

I enjoyed speaking about my writing, my books, but next time (and I hope there is a next time) I will be better prepared.  I think like most things "Practice makes perfect."  I plan on continuing to grow and practice until the last moment of my life!

I Love to Create

Celeste's Journal

I LOVE to create!  Taking some fabric, some pins, and a pattern that I have created out of newspaper inspires me to create something new.  It makes me shiny happy when I see a woman walking down the street in one of my creations.  I don't JUST make random fashion.  I look at each of my customers and create a one of a kind dress with the colors and style that emphasize their strengths and play down their weaknesses.

It's a good thing that I have this grand passion for fashion because it provides me with food, shelter, and clothing for myself.  I rarely sew anything for myself.  What is the pleasure in that?  OK, sometimes I do make something exquisite for myself.  I am after all a woman and if I look shabby who would wish to purchase my creations?

On rainy days it is such a joy to be inside, close to a warm fireplace.  Sometimes I sit and look at a sketch pad for several hours trying to envision what I wish to create.  A spring dress for Wilhelmina Bond, (adorable little girl), took me most of an afternoon to create.  

On those rare days when customers are few and far between.  I remind myself of the joy and wonder of creating.  I feel as though this is the perfect niche for me, creating clothing of beauty.   

New

August 5, 1868

Blake kissed me today.  We had gone to Emma's for dinner.  It was a delightful evening.  We went for a long walk after dinner.  Blake LOVES to go for a walk after dinner.

He brought me home.  As usual he hugged me close then putting me back from him he went to kiss me on the cheek.

My little kitty jumped up on some very delicate fabric that I had on my table waiting to be cut out.  Distracted I started to turn to shoo the Kitty from the table.  At that moment Blake leaned to kiss me and instead of my cheek as usual, he kissed my lips.  It was awkward, and then it wasn't.

The kiss began gentle and slow.  It was so awkward, yet it was so tender.  Then it became this hot raging flame.  This was the first time that a man ever kissed me.

In the years of sexual torture I refused to let any of the men kiss me.  I always looked forward to being kissed by someone that I genuinely cared for, that cared for me as well.  It was oh so worth the wait.  I had no idea that pressing my lips to someone else's could create such amazing emotions!

After just a few minutes Blake pushed me gently back from him.  He said, "I'm so sorry Celeste."

I said, "You are?  I'm NOT!  I have waited a very long time for you to kiss me Blake.  Please don't spoil it by telling me that you did not enjoy it!"

Blake groaned and pulled me back to him.  This fiery kiss that we shared told me everything that I wanted to know about whether or not Blake enjoyed our kiss.  I forgot about anything and everything in the world as Blake held me.  As his lips pressed against mine suddenly my life was completely filled with only sensation and emotion.

He kissed my eyes, my nose, my cheeks, my throat, and then again my lips.  I never wanted that moment to end.

Unfortunately, in this lif,e all good things come to an end.  All too soon Blake pushed me away again.  He said, "Don't ever think that I didn't enjoy these kisses Celeste.  I have wanted to kiss you since the very first time I saw you.  Even in my grieving anguish I found you ever so enticing."

"I have to get home Celeste."  Blake walked rapidly to the door.  He picked up his hat and put it on his head.  "Thank you for the lovely evening Celeste."  Then he was gone.

Slowly, dreamily I climbed the stairs to bed.  My sleep was filled with dreams of Blake, and a glorious future together as man and wife.