Chapter 5

Sarah

"Short is the joy that guilty pleasure brings."

― Euripides

June, 1861

Sarah put the letter down, a sinking feeling in her chest. It had taken nearly a month for Benjamin's missive to reach her in the quiet Oxfordshire village in which she lived. During that time of course, she had heard the news about a war breaking out in America, and she had fretted, the safety of her newfound friend and his family paramount in her thoughts. Not even a chance encounter with Mr Templeton in the village could lift that worry from her mind.

Ambrose too shared her fears, working as he did so closely with Daniel, who was filled with worry for his family. Only yesterday, Daniel had told Ambrose that he proposed to return to America. It had taken all of Ambrose and Benedict's powers of persuasion to convince him to stay. They reminded him that his father had entrusted Isabella to his care in England, and that his uncle Jasper had also tasked him with keeping a protective eye on Grace. He would be doing them both a disservice by leaving. In the end, it had been the packet of letters that arrived from America that had dissuaded him. His father, mother and brother all wrote to him, making their wishes clear. He should stay in England and abandon all thought of returning to his old home.

That same packet had contained Benjamin's letter to Sarah, which she had just finished reading. She was not much surprised to learn that Benjamin meant to enlist in the army. From what she knew of him, it was the sort of brave thing that he would do. Surprised or not, it still sent a pang of fear through her heart. This war could take from her the wonderful new friend she had only recently found. She sighed and picked the letter up again, reading it one more time. Then she placed it carefully in the box that contained Benjamin's other letters and readied herself for bed.

As she went to get under the covers, she paused. No, she was not quite ready yet for sleep. Slipping on her robe and taking her a candle with her, she opened her bedroom door and walked down the hall to Ambrose's room. On her knock, his voice came cheerfully through the door, "Enter!" She turned the knob and went in.

Ambrose sat in bed, his spectacles on the bridge of his nose as he read from the book that he held in his lap. On seeing his sister, he carefully marked the page and set the book aside. His understanding gaze settled on her face. "I thought you might come by," was all he said. He patted the space next to him in invitation.

Sarah set her candle on the table and came to sit beside him, letting her chin rest on his shoulder. "So, what has you unable to sleep?" he asked. "Is it today's letter from America?"

"Yes, it was from Benjamin Stanton."

He nodded. "I assumed so. What does he have to say that has you so uneasy?"

"He is going to enlist in the Union army, just as soon as the call comes for cavalry volunteers."

"Yes, I know." At her look of surprise, he explained, "Benjamin wrote of it to Daniel too, though he has not informed either of his parents yet of his decision."

"And Daniel told you?"

Ambrose kissed the top of her head before answering. "We had a long conversation about it today. Benjamin wrote that he planned to volunteer with a cavalry regiment and that Daniel was absolutely not to follow suit. He laid it on thick, writing that it was Daniel's duty to stay in England safe and sound so that at least one of their papa's sons would remain unharmed."

Sarah huffed in frustration, "I can well imagine how Daniel took that!"

"He was agitated, to put it mildly. But then in the next portion of the letter, Benjamin asked his brother to just this once let him have the glory. There is, it seems, some rivalry between the two."

"Yes," replied Sarah with a sigh. "Benjamin has lived in his brother's shadow all his life. You see how it is, don't you?"

"Having a handsome, brilliant older brother? I'm sure you must know how it is," replied Ambrose teasingly.

Sarah feigned ignorance. "I'm sure I cannot know what you mean." Then she returned to the matter at hand. "I do hope Daniel heeds your words. No good would come of him going to America."

"I hope so too," murmured Ambrose. He turned to face his sister. "So, you are worried about Benjamin."

She nodded mutely. He regarded her a moment more, then enquired gently, "And what is Benjamin to you now? I thought, perhaps, that your affections were engaged elsewhere."

Sarah felt her face flush. "They are. That has not changed. Benjamin is a very good friend. That is all."

"I see." He pondered this a few beats then gave a light laugh. "You were never one to take the conventional path, were you? When I come to think of it, this is nothing new for you. After all, you have been friends with Benedict all your life."

"I do not know why it is considered so strange that a woman should befriend a man. We are not different species of animal after all. What unites us in our humanity is far greater than the minor differences between male and female."

He shrugged. "You are right, I suppose, but I have never had occasion to befriend someone from the opposite sex."

"Perhaps you should think of doing so," said Sarah with passion in her voice, "for I assure you it is a most interesting thing to be able to speak freely with a person of the opposite sex."

"I do that already with you," Ambrose said, sounding amused.

"Mmm, not quite the same. There are things of which I cannot speak with you."

"But you can with Benjamin Stanton?" asked Ambrose, a touch perturbed.

"Yes, with him I can."

"Well then," replied Ambrose, "I am glad for you that you have him as a friend. Let us hope and pray he is unharmed in this war."

Sarah felt a tightness in her chest as she was reminded once more of why she had come to see her brother. With a slight quaver in her voice, she said, "I cannot contemplate the prospect of him being harmed without feeling great pain."

He squeezed her hand gently. "Then keep him in your prayers, my love. That is all that you can do."

"I know." Sarah shifted herself to the edge of the bed and stood. "I shall leave you in peace now. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Back in her room, Sarah discarded her robe and climbed into bed. Then, she blew out the candle and settled herself for sleep. Yet still sleep would not come. She thought of her friend, miles away in a land rife with discord and strife. Closing her eyes, she recalled how he had looked, sitting on a rooftop beside her as he marvelled at the wondrous sight of a meteor shower. She thought back to his letters and the privilege he had accorded her in corresponding with such honesty—writing of things no one else had spoken of to her before. "Have you ever stroked yourself with your fingers down below and touched your clitoris?" he'd asked. "If you have not, then perhaps next time you are alone in your room at night, you may give it a try."

Slowly, a little astonished at her own brazenness, Sarah slipped a hand under the covers and pulled at the fabric of her night gown, raising it to a point above her hips. She felt the cool kiss of the sheet on the heated core of her body and shivered slightly at the contact. Next, she guided a trembling hand down to her mound, grazing the wiry tuft of hair that grew in this most intimate part of her body. Still lower she went, parting her legs to open herself up to the touch of her fingers. The flesh there was soft and moist, delicate as the petals of a flower. She had touched it before in passing while cleaning herself, but never in the purposeful way she was doing now.

She rested her hand over this soft flesh. The weight of it felt pleasant and warm, like a comforting blanket. Eyes closed, she paid attention to the sensation of her touch there. After a time, she felt a compulsion to move her hips gently, swaying them against the contact of her hand. Back and forth she began to move, rubbing herself against the fingers gathered on her moist core. It was a novel sensation. It felt… oddly good. Then, without her volition, she did another brazen thing. She imagined she was Chastity Hewitt in an empty barn with Benjamin, and that the hand rubbing over her slippery core was his, not hers. She heard his rough voice whisper words of praise and encouragement. She imagined him kissing a line up her neck to her mouth, then his firm lips finding hers and raining kiss after tumultuous kiss.

The motion of her hips became a little faster, a little more frantic, as she chased something unknown. She felt that familiar throb down below, but it was stronger now, more intense. The throbbing feeling was building up like the crescendo of an orchestral symphony, getting stronger and stronger. Then all of a sudden, she felt it. It was akin to the clang of the cymbals at the climax of a symphony, followed by reverberations that echoed through her body so violently she could not help the moan that escaped from her lips.

Her chest heaved with panting breaths as she experienced her first orgasm, for this surely was what she had just felt. It was unmistakable, as Benjamin had told her it would be. Slowly, her breathing steadied. She lay in her bed, glorying in a sense of wellbeing and satisfaction. A question teased the edges of her mind as it wandered, preparing to drift away into the land of slumber. Was it wrong to have imagined her friend in the throes of her passion? Should she have reached an orgasm to thoughts of him touching and kissing her? Perhaps this would have to be her guilty secret. But no. First thing tomorrow, she would write to Benjamin and tell him all about it. She would not throw a veil over this little episode as that would do a disservice to the extraordinary honesty that had built between them. She would tell him all. He would understand. He was her true friend, but of course she did not find him more attractive than Mr Templeton. Or did she?