THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART NINETY-FIVE:

Sometime in the night, he had no idea just when, Morgan awoke, taking a long moment to orient himself as to his whereabouts and circumstances. While he'd slept, Harmer had had a small cot moved in next to the bed, between it and the window, and Susannah was sleeping on it, her arm
up onto the higher bed, holding his left hand. Morgan ran his thumb pad lightly back and forth over her fingers. His wife. Good Lord above, Susannah Wellington was now Susannah Kent. It

was more than he could get his mind around. And with her father's blessing, too.

He thought back to their time in the gardens behind this very house, how he'd wanted to say her first name but had no right. Now, beyond all belief, she was his wife. "Wife," he said the word aloud, a slight smile on his lips. Fine lot of a husband he was right now, though. They'd
obviously thought him too injured for her even to sleep in the same bed with him. But she was

here, next to him, and he had her hand in his. Now he whispered the word, "Susannah," with

the new-found pleasure in his total right to say it.

It had only been so very recently he'd even arrived in Virginia. He thought about his days here before he'd seen her by the fig tree. Even then, even at that very moment as he watched her hands trace the lobes of the large leaf, he'd known he'd never be the same. Then it hit him fully. He'd committed himself to being a Virginian. His father...! A sudden pain raced through his head, back to front, as he tensed. His father would never understand, would disown him. But Susannah's

hand lay within his and that had become the foundational meaning of his life.

He knew, too, that even apart from her, he'd been steadily going down the path of Colonialism. Being here, right here in Williamsburg, with access to the Apollo Room in the Raleigh Tavern,

that room that to him seemed the beating heart of the New World, filled with the men who made

it so...all of that had been getting inside him, taking up residence. That he had gotten married now was like pressing the seal into the soft wax that made the document official. He'd become a Virginian, both by heart and by marriage. It was his choice, what he wanted...no matter the cost.

There was so much to think about, so very much,  but he drifted back into a deep sleep, still holding his wife's hand.

It took him the better part of two weeks to stop seeing double, to be able to lift his head and not

feel like he was going to pass out. Micah and he had developed a friendship as the older man

was the one who tended to him when he couldn't get out of bed to use the chamber pot. Micah

grew very fond of the young man, who was unfailingly kind to him. This was aided by the mere fact, too, of how clear it was to all the staff that he made their Susannah happy. All of them had watched her grow from babyhood and all felt very protective of her. Morgan had come, suddenly and unexpectedly, and made her happier than any of them had ever seen.

Myra fussed over him, making him soups, soft breads, little sugary pastries. Harmer had sent

Joel to the Francis Street boarding house to pack his things and bring them to what was now Morgan's new home. That he was so incapacitated and in such pain when he first became a

part of the household, that this had been done to him by someone they all disliked, resulted in

the protectiveness they felt for Susannah being extending to wrap around him as well. Motherless, having spent his life with a business-like, sharp-minded father always on the go, being cosseted

was a wonder to him.

The first time he'd tried to stand, he was so instantly dizzy that he'd collapsed, scaring everyone half to death as it was by the barest margin that Micah had been able to prevent his head from striking the dresser as he fell. Dr. Graves came by from time to time and once told Harmer
that he'd actually been surprised Morgan had not died or ended in a coma as the concussion

was so severe.

It wasn't till the fourth week of their marriage that Susannah felt he was well enough for her to sleep in the same bed with him. They, of course, had cuddled and kissed before, but it still hurt

him to move his head very much and she wanted him to be able to sleep with whatever comfort
he could manage.  Often at night, though, he would wake, aware of her on the low cot beside his bed, and he railed inwardly at himself for not being able to make her truly his wife. Once he'd pushed himself up on his elbow, wanting to look at her face in the moonlight, but the price he'd paid in pain had made him hesitate to repeat that endeavor. He found that if he lay perfectly

still, the pain would subside to a low throb, but he also knew that such enforced inactivity was taking its toll on his bodily strength and he wanted so desperately to be strong for her.

Now she lay beside him and the covers had been thrown back as it was early July and quite

warm despite a light breeze stirring the lace at the open window. He was aware of Susannah's almost total inexperience with men but also remembered clearly how she'd responded to him

both in the gardens here and at Graylands. He was on his left side, having slowly and carefully moved to arrange himself to face her, and his fingers trailed down the exquisite curve of her

cheek.

She was smiling at him, her long hair loose about her shoulders, and wearing a pale blue night shift with a white satin tie that held the scooped, gathered neckline together in the front. It occurred to him that for her sake, it was probably wise that he introduce her a little at a time

to married love. His own body had already responded to her mere presence beside him and the increased sexual tension had raised his usual head throb to a higher level, a fact he was trying

to ignore, though not always successfully. He was breathing carefully, hoping to get past that,

but the more he looked at her, the further down her neck his fingers went, the more aroused he became with a resulting constant increase in his head pain. Still, he didn't stop. His body felt

at war with itself, the needs of one part aggravating the hurt in another, but he pressed his lips tightly together, determined to know at least the outer edges of what it meant to be husband to

her.

Susannah sighed and lifted her chin as his fingers moved down her neck. She'd spent so
many days now in deep concern for him that being his wife had taken second place to being
his nurse. She knew he didn't want that. She didn't want that, either, but fate had thrust
this upon them and it would pass. All she had to do was wait, care for him, and he would
be himself again. That he was there at all still amazed her. Now she lay quietly, except
that wherever his fingers touched, her flesh became warm and trembled. She had no idea
what it meant to be a wife, but she trusted this man implicitly, and she, too, remembered
how her body responded to his, how even that first night in the garden she had become
aware of want.
 

His hand traced her left collarbone, hesitated, then found the satin tie, undoing it. A large
fold of her shift slid down, revealing her right breast, his hand paused, hovering a long

while. She didn't move, waiting, very aware of what her clothing had done. Morgan was

breathing faster, through his parted lips, and left his hand several inches above her, closing

his eyes briefly, willing his head to cooperate. Slowly his lids opened and even more slowly

he allowed his hand to lower, his palm curving over her breast.

She sucked in a long, open-mouthed gasp of air. Nothing had ever felt like that before and as
his hand moved gently around her breast, under, over, then found its way under her shift to her
left, his thumb touching her nipple there, areas further down her body flooded with an aching
need, way beyond what she'd experienced from being kissed and she pressed herself against

him, wanting no space between herself and him.

He leaned forward, kissing his way around her breasts, delighted by her response, but was only able to maintain that position for a moment or two before he had to lie back. "I'm...I'm sorry,"

he mumbled.

Now she had pushed herself up on her arms, leaning over him. "Don't you dare, my darling.

You are mine and I am yours and when it is time, everything will...."

"But I want you so, Susannah. I want you now."

"I know." She ran the backs her her fingers across his brow, trying to erase the furrow she felt there. "Shhhhh! Let it go. It will come."

He made a sharp, cut-off laughing sound...that she, whom he was trying gently to introduce to

love, had to comfort him. He was 23 and desperately tired of being an invalid. His hand came up behind her head, pulled it down, and he proceeded to kiss her as thoroughly as he ever had until

he gasped, clutched both sides of his head with his hands, making little "uhhn uhhn" sounds

deep his his throat, which after a moment devolved into a series of "Damn, damn, damn's!"
 

Susannah fumbled for the basin, wetting a cloth, trying to push his hands aside so she could wipe his face. "Listen to me, Morgan. Nothing is more important than getting you through this, getting you well again. Nothing! Please, darling, please don't make yourself suffer over it. Please don't!"

"I just...I just...."

"I know, I know. But relax now, please. Let your head rest."

"I think I've come to loathe my head," he sighed, then took a deep breath.

"It's my husband's head," she smiled, "and I'm quite fond of it. So stop."

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you, my darling." She folded the cloth, leaving it on his forehead, and lay beside him

again, pulling his arm up and over her in that way she liked.

"Is it still all right?"

"What?"

"That you married me?"

"Oh, Morgan! It's so much more than all right. It's wonderful."

"Even with all this?"

"Even with all this, yes. Now rest."

She could hear him trying to even his breathing out and after a while knew he'd fallen asleep.

Two weeks more and he was up and around, slowly and carefully, but he even made it out to

the garden. He was very weak and had to lean on Micah still, but just being outside was a marvel

to him. Harmer had had a padded lounge chair set for him not far out from the rear door and

he'd stretch out there, loving the dappled sunlight on his face as the breeze stirred the trees. The mid-summer perennials were blooming now and the air smelled glorious. Susannah would sit beside him and they talked and talked, finding out all the details of each other's lives, sharing
the secrets of their hearts.
 

By the end of July Morgan had been able to make love to his wife and what had long been a

thorn in his side turned into a bubble of happiness. The only thing still hanging over him was

his father's response to the long letter he'd sent early in July. It, of course, took weeks for correspondence to get from Virginia to England and then back again. And he wasn't even sure

if his father actually were in England in the first place, his shipping interests often taking him abroad, which would only lengthen the time for a reply.
 

By early August it was becoming evident that Harmer would be going to Philadelphia at the end

of the month with Washington and Jefferson. That his daughter was married and there was a

man in the house was a great comfort to him, but still he sent for his older sister, Clara, in Richmond. Clara's husband had been killed in a fall from his horse after only two weeks of marriage. She had never remarried and had continued all these years to live in the large house

in Richmond that had been their home.
 

Clara arrived the third week of August in a flurry of luggage. "With the world the way it is,"

she announced, "one never knows how long one might be required to stay." Clara smelled of lavender sachet and had an ample bosom upon which to comfort anyone who needed it. And

she adored her only niece. Smoothing her gloves, she sized up the young man leaning against

the front door frame. So this was Morgan Kent, the man who had married her Susannah.

Harmer had written her in some detail about the events surrounding that and she had been

most curious to see him for herself, wanting to know if her own opinion would match that of

her brother's.
 

Morgan was dressed in light fawn breeches with a darker tan jacket. Her immediate impression

was that he was quite handsome but much too thin. He'd obviously lost weight during his ordeal.

At her approach, he smiled, pushed himself off from the doorway and came down the two steps

to greet her. "Aunt Clara," he said in a deep voice she instantly found enjoyable to listen to,

"it is my honor and great pleasure to meet you at last."

He looked slightly older than 23 to her probing eyes. Great pain over many weeks would do that

to one. When he smiled there were a few lines that crinkled at the corners of his eyes, two around the edges of his mouth. Nothing that took away, mind, from his attractiveness and might well

even add to it with that air of maturity they lent. "Dear Morgan," she smiled, holding out her

hand, over which he bowed, lifting it and placing a light kiss. "You are much improved, then?"

"Much," he said, looking back as Susannah appeared in the doorway, delayed by Layla's not

being able to find the sash to her dress. With some ease she came down the steps, where Morgan took her hand.

"Aunt Clara?"

"Here, darling child," Clara said, enveloping Susannah in an enormous hug.
 

Watching, Morgan smiled. He knew how reluctant Susannah had been to have her father travel

to Philadelphia soon, but Aunt Clara's arrival seemed to smooth that somewhat. Morgan could understand why Harmer wanted her there in his absence. Morgan was still not back to where

he'd been before, and Clara fairly radiated competence. She'd come and watched over Susannah several times in her growing up when Harmer had to be away and couldn't take his daughter

along. Her evident love for Susannah also gratified him. He wanted for her that she be loved as much as possible.

"So," Clara continued, still holding onto her niece, "you have now a husband who loves you."

"And whom I love," Susannah added. "I am very happy, Aunt Clara."

"So I see." She did, indeed. Susannah glowed with that satisfied happiness that come from a

good marriage.

And so Aunt Clara settled in in the back bedroom she always used when visiting and outdid

even Myra in clucking over Morgan, making sure he ate an amount she considered satisfactory, that he wasn't on his feet too long. He reminded her somewhat of her own young long-lost

husband and her heart instantly went out to him, her protectiveness surrounding him. Between Susannah, Clara, Myra, and Layla, Morgan was nearly inundated with feminine care. He found

he rather liked it and got a certain amount of pleasure in seeing how happy it made them to fuss over him. He still tired easily, still had days when his head pounded, but he was overall really

much better and improving steadily. And his wife was truly his wife in every way. That pleased

him the most.

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