Another Springtime Ch. 11

In this regard there is, as well, the question of whether she is herself open to advances from other men. I find her dedication to me exclusively quite extraordinary in this day in age, and I am greatly honored by her commitment to me and to me alone, and her steadfast modesty of dress and demeanor in public. This is best related, I think, by my daughter.

At one of the faculty parties at graduation – as a grad student I had taught lower division classes, so I was included as faculty – I took both the girls with me. They were excited and dressed to the nines. I was away from them just briefly when a man I didn't recognize – probably a little tipsy – approached Christine and, rather too possessively, tried to steer her away from Jenny. By this time not as timid as she had been earlier, Christine protested. He ignored her protest with some comment about her husband not really caring if she let down her hair and "frolicked a little." Jennifer hoots every time she tells this story. Christine was trying to be polite, but the man's attention became more forceful, taking her by the arm, and she resisted, responding then casually but in a very serious tone that her husband had already shot and killed three men who thought they could capture her like that... and suddenly the now quite sober intruder's composure was, according to Jenny, "totally shattered."

But that's getting ahead of the story here.

It was, I think, in about the third or fourth week of our marriage. We were back in Seattle, the entire flap with the break in was over and done with, and things were settling down. In the mail Monday was a flyer about a festival at the Seattle Center that coming weekend and it looked attractive as a means to get away and drain off tension and just laugh a little and explore some new things. On a couple of occasions we had been to such before. She liked the excitement and did not feel intimidated by crowds as long as she was close to me. When we sat down to our planning session with our calendars as scheduled at 2 PM that afternoon, I mentioned it, and that there were some music presentations that we might enjoy... a series of groups singing sea chanties from 1 PM on Saturday, a Swiss-German group doing folk dances from central Europe, and then a series of blues bands in a theater at 6. It looked good to me.

Done! She was excited and we went over the information with a fine-toothed comb.

Tuesday's shopping excursion included a stop at the fabric shop and she came away with several yards of a very beautiful Hawaiian print material, asking me if I liked it. I think she knew already. We had talked about Hawaiian stuff before, since she wanted to know about what it was like when I lived there, and I still had an old Polynesian print shirt that I wore sometimes. The pattern she had chosen was a dark blue background, essentially black, with broad green leaves and large flowers... orchids mostly, in vivid pinks, violets, whites. Altogether quite striking.

Well, come Saturday, she brings me my new sport shirt, all neatly ironed on a hangar. It was comfortably oversized and extra long, which is important when you're taller than most fellows, but the zinger was her dress. She could knock out these things with her talents and her sewing machine almost at the drop of a hat. She came to me from our bedroom as she was still tying her sash at her waist and had yet to button up the front of her bodice, asking me what I thought of her design.

Right off the bat I noticed that she was not wearing her brassiere, but she soon finished the buttons and smoothed her skirt, and then stood waiting for my approval. She had fashioned it from the same Hawaiian print material as my shirt, and used a devastatingly attractive and feminine pattern. It was classic, one piece, button down the front with sash dress, short sleeves, semi-full skirt to just below her knees, snuggly tailored bodice and waist... by modern day standards perhaps too conservative and showing little skin in a day when the trick seemed to be to show all that was legal, and more if you could get away with it. Yet, it was very much a stylish and attractive dress, especially on her!

I was struck by the appropriateness of her design and expression... she had captured perfectly an ideal she and I had discussed earlier following another occasion when we had observed young women out in public events dressed rather, shall we say, too lightly. Her dress was beautiful just by itself. On her, with her poise and statuesque figure, the effect was stunning. Any man who thinks modesty and feminine beauty cannot co-exist and flourish in one girl's being, I must say, does not grasp the finer things of life. She had her hair down, delightfully silk-like and unencumbered, flowing everywhere, and stood there in her bare feet and her pendant at her throat, hands together at her waist, looking at me sweetly, and just waiting.

Madison Avenue seeks to create and capture that image, but they are looking in all the wrong places, and think to find it with paint and posturing. What the moguls misunderstand this young nineteen-year-old darling of mine created quite adeptly and with hardly any effort at all, and with nothing like their budget.

It was, of course, in her eyes most of all, and what was in her eyes radiated from her entire being. More than being a beautiful woman, she was in love, and knew her prince treated her and treasured her as his princess. When I recovered from the more than pleasurable jolt to my senses that she had brought about, I extended my hand to her, beckoning her forward. She stepped carefully, in soft and demure movements, not fearful, but a little shy and subdued, and willingly forward and into my embrace.

"I want to honor you by being as pretty as I can be, so that all who see us together will know I am your lady and belong to you... and that I love you... and you alone." She had never before spoken of what others might think, and now it was that she wanted to be seen as my lady. Her eyes twinkled for me, and she waited for me to respond.

I have seldom been so at a loss for words.

"My dearest darling Christine...any man... any person today with eyes to see will get your message, and all... women, and girls, and children, will see an example of feminine modesty and striking beauty as my lady walks by on my arm.

"You do me great honor, dear wife... very great honor, indeed."

"Do you really like it, Dace?"

"Like" it? Your dress is magical, and the body and spirit within more beautiful than I have ever imagined could be." I felt myself sort of mumbling. "You're a very pretty young lady, Darling." I guess I began to regain my presence of mind a little, "Thank you very much for the shirt and dressing so nicely in a matching dress. I think you've done wonders, girl of mine!"

She snuggled closer to me in my arms. "Is it bad if I don't wear my brassiere?" Her little girl voice was begging her daddy for another prom dress, but as she fixed her collar she tuned for me to see her little pendant at her throat, in which she took such obvious delight.

I thought about that and stroked her back where her bra straps would have been, feeling the smoothness resulting from their absence. "That will be fine, as long as you feel safe with me,My Pretty Little Vixen."

We stood for a moment, enjoying our embrace.

"Why don't you bring one in the car, just in case later you feel you'd like one?"

"And my silk panties, too?"

Well, you cannot believe what kind of a day it was. She was ever on my arm or holding my hand, strolling amid the exhibits and making our way through the crowds... she turned heads, stopped conversations, caused people to step aside who otherwise would not have noticed. She caused a group of fellows throwing a Frisbee to suspend their performance as we sat at a picnic table with hot dogs and soda. Christine's eyes remained, however, just for me. We talked and looked at stuff, and she laughed at my lame jokes, and enjoyed the entertainment... the singing, the dancing demonstrations, and the music.

She relaxed with me, and enjoyed the fresh air and the crowd, and asked me about the lyrics to the chanties that seemed so mysterious to her. Yet, for all that, she remained tuned just to me. Three young girls, for example, with hot dogs and various things, asked if they could share our table, and she talked with them briefly in a friendly way. They were local girls, just a year or two younger than she and out for a fun afternoon and probably hoping to meet some boys. The younger girls seemed not to sense the disparity between them. She was pleasant and cheerful with them, not critical, but the contrast in maturity and grace and poise was just startling. It was a great honor to have her trust and love.

She gave not the slightest hint that she noticed any other man the entire time. She waswith me... she spoke to me, stayed close to me, held my arm close to her, stood at my side, listened to me, looked at me, followed me, waited for me, shared her thoughts with me, leaned her head on my shoulder, traded bites of hot dog with me, smiled at me... the experience was quite remarkable. As we strolled along I could feel others looking at us...at her. More than once groups of fellows at tables in the several beer gardens turned to watch. People commented to each other about her, about us... about the beautiful lady on my arm.

It was one of that kind of day. Marvelous!

Much later, after we had enjoyed several of the excellent blues performers, I suggested dinner out, and we drove down to the waterfront to Anthony's at the Belltown Marina. She stopped conversations as thematre di led us to our table. There was a little flower shop out front, and I slipped him a bill with a request, and shortly a large and very fragrant Gardenia arrived on a bowl full of ice.

She blushed prettily, did not know what to say or do, and looked lovingly at me with those big brown eyes, questioning.

"Christine, do you remember the message you wanted to give to people today... what you said to me back in the apartment earlier?"

She had to think a minute, then smiled sweetly and dropped her eyes.

"They get the message... and I am very pleased to have you at my side, darling wife. I love you with all my heart, princess. Like I said before, you will always bemy pretty little vixen...."

That brightened her countenance and she smiled at me with her entire being, full of joy and happiness to be with me, and in her simple and feminine way swept her long hair from her face as her smile warmed my heart. As we departed after a delicious dinner she excused herself a moment for the ladies room, and went back inside. I waited outside on the broad decking in the pleasantly cool evening air with at least an hour's worth of sunshine remaining, but my hackles went up when I noticed four men in suits gathering in front of the restaurant's main entrance. Instantly I began evaluating them as a possible hit team, but they had no car at the curb, where only taxis and drop offs and valet parking was allowed, and it seemed somehow incomplete as a set up. Nevertheless, I thought, and I bristled and felt the Colt once again under my shirt at my back. I was ready in the sense that I was alerted, but I did not like the situation at all and was looking for a way to avoid disaster when my girl came sailing out the entrance and down the few steps to me like a sleek sailing sloop loafing along before the fresh breeze and just as pretty as a picture, her long hair trailing gloriously behind like a cloud and sparkling fairy dust scattering in her wake, headed for me and ignoring the men as had there been none present. She was breathtaking in her beauty and she was all mine.

I could have gunned down the four of them on the spot on just general principles, judging them alone on the way they ogled her and whistled and called after her. She ignored them in a ladylike manner that accorded them not the slightest recognition, less than none if that be possible, but she was just the same a very keenly aware young lady of just barely nineteen years. She knew where she was safe and where she belonged, and that's where she wanted to be; her decision was made and that was final. As she approached me, nevertheless, she read our pre-arranged signals clearly and stepped to my welcoming, outstretched left hand, leaving my right hand free to handle the Colt should that be required. I was very gratified to witness the entire procession and feel her dedication to me and her confidence in my protection.

The men, as it turned out, were waiting for friends evidently, and nothing more intruded upon our evening, but she was quick to tell me that shefelt their predatory nature as she passed between them coming out the door, and knew, harkening back to her experience in Longview, she would have seen had she taken the trouble to look blood on their mouths and muck on their paws. That had made her very anxious, but she had known I was close by and watching. She was a steadier person now and the tension soon passed, and we came through with nary a ruffle in our feathers.

We strolled back to the car at a leisurely pace, she was able to relax and just seemed pleased and content to be close to me. She was very quiet in the car and I asked her if she felt special for me.

Yes, she did, she said, and sat very close to me.

Why was that?

Because I loved her, she said very matter of factly, as were it a simple fact confirmed by an entry in the encyclopedia somewhere.

And?

Because, she said meekly, "when you treat me so special Iknow you love me... and," she hesitated a little and when I looked at her she was blushing, "... and then I remember how fun it is when you... when you hold me and...when you make me...when you make me until my toes curl" She wiggled her nose and giggled, and snuggled closer to my side.

Well, even the really good days come to an end, but they don't get much better than that.