point. The first thing Hanna realized was that after a long, ardent kiss, Stephen was lying on top of her and guiding himself gently into her. Although it hurt for a few seconds, she was too full of the want of him to draw back. Her heart cried out his name, and her lips could only whisper, “I love you. I love you.” Stephen was hers, now and forever, and whatever he wanted of her, from one end of this life to the other, was his.
Then she felt him fully inside her, and the most glorious sense swept over her body. She grasped him tightly so he could experience the same thrill of belonging, the exquisite pleasure of togetherness. The soaring reached a zenith, hovered for the merest flash of infinity, and she began falling downward, faster and faster, racing down wildly until she was a comet’s trail shooting sparks into the void.
Suddenly, at the very nadir of the plunge, at the instant of her crash, she zoomed straight up, and a cry of savage ecstasy broke from her lips, draining all awareness, all sensation of body. In the distance, she heard herself crying, “Stephen. Stephen.”
He lay quietly atop her, breathing as hard as she, his chest rising and falling against her breasts. After a while, he raised his head and kissed her lips.
“I love you, Hanna,” was all he could say.
She sighed and twisted her face into his chest.
He held her closely in his arms. It was the most wonderful experience of his life, he thought over and over, one that he could share only with her. He thanked his lucky stars that he had waited for her. There could never be anyone else but her. No matter how far away he must go or for how long, he would have no other woman.
Then a notion shook him violently. He remembered that making love could make her pregnant. He drew away from her with sudden anxiety. “Hanna,” he said urgently, his face tight with worry. “You could become pregnant, couldn’t you?”
She pulled down her petticoat and skirt, then she saw her bloomers off to one side. How they had gotten there was beyond her understanding. Part of her awareness noted spots of blood on her skirt.
But Stephen’s question was booming in her mind. “I don’t know. My cousin, Zelda, said it was safe to be with a boy if it was a week or so before…you know.”
Stephen was not about to make light of the subject. “Do you mean your menstrual period?”
Hanna was regaining control of herself. “Yes.”
“How about yourseIf?”
She took a deep breath. “I should have my flow in two or three days.”
Stephen let out a long sigh of relief. Deep inside, he rather hoped she would become pregnant. Then she would have to marry him, regardless of religion, university, or family. But he had to admit it was much better not to have to face a crisis of that nature at this time.
He took her into his arms and pulled her back to the ground, kissing her tenderly and murmuring words of love, his hand more confidently exploring her body, going inside her waist shirt again and over her camisole to a soft, warm breast.
The sounds of the boys fishing from the field came to their ears. They were walking in their direction. Quickly the two got up, brushed off their clothes, then, locking hands, their eyes full of love and tenderness for each other, they returned to the boat.
There was still light to fish by, and in almost no time, Hanna boated two fish and Stephen one. But there was no longer the heady excitement of yesterday, for it paled before the ardor they had shared only a short time ago.
CHAPTER 5
The following day, directly after lunch, Hershel packed a small case, saddled his horse, and rode to Slabodka. He went through the small, bustling town and started over the wooden bridge, traversing the narrow Neris River to Kaunas, his horse’s shoes thumping upon the heavy planks. Riding the ten versts from Gremai had been good exercise for both the horse and the expert rider on his back.
Kaunas was a strange looking city, he thought, compared to most of those in Europe. Having been initially built as a fortress, to aid in its defensive role, the Russians, upon their seizure of the city, had decreed that no house could rise higher than two stories, and set about demolishing those which did. But since the four storied city hall, known throughout the country as the White Swan, and the equally high, twin steepled Jesuit church to the left of the bridge were national landmarks, the Russians made a reluctant exception. However, to counter the fact that Kaunas contained the Vytautas-The-Great Church, erected five hundred years ago in honor of the Grand Prince, the Russians built the Sobor, a magnificent three domed Byzantine Orthodox church that dominated the new part of the city and stood as high as the Jesuit’s. It was purposely placed near to the railroad station so it would command the eye from near and afar, and thereby explain to the Roman Catholics and the Jews alike just which religion ruled here.
On the main street was a glistening, white stone and marble theater, renowned for its fine operas and ballets. A few blocks further on was an open rotunda of the same white stone and marble, decorated extensively with rococo work, held up by a score of tall, slender columns. It was an outdoor concert hall, set in a park of carefully tended flower beds and shade trees.
Across from the park was the library, again of the white stone and marble, huge, square, of a modern design, with tall, narrow windows. A series of semicircular steps led up to the entrance.
Hershel dismounted, tied his horse to a hitching rail, tipped the horsewatcher a coin to make certain the animal remained on its best behavior and did not begin kicking out at those nearby, and trotted up the twenty or so steps. Inside it was cool, but well illuminated by electric lights that the Governor had ordered installed as one of the first projects in the city. A voracious reader, the library was his favorite haunt. A guard at the doorway, colorfully uniformed with a polished saber at his side, glanced at Hershel, took in the fine clothing, then turned back to gazing off into space.
In the main reading room were a score or more of mahogany tables with matching naval captain’s chairs. At the far side were two large oak doors. A gendarme, stiffly alert, sat at a small table in front of the doors. Only those with special passes were permitted inside, for here were found the Lithuanian and Polish reference books. For more than a hundred years, no publications in those languages had been permitted outside of official storage areas. However, since Poland had spawned scores of excellent writers, a large number of their books had been kept for private use only.
Katrine was seated at the end of a line of tables, and as Hershel walked up, he was once again captivated by her beauty. He angled his approach to see her thick, red-brown hair, shimmering with life, hanging in a single braid nearly to the floor. She sat totally erect, as if a soldier on parade, and her high, full breasts rose gently as she breathed. She was unlike any woman he had met. While others avoided the harsh damaging rays of the sun, huddling under parasols at the first hint of tanning, she gloried in its warmth, and had a golden hue over every part of her body.
She must have sensed him, for she looked up and pinned him with those brilliant gray-green eyes that drew you in like a suction cup. Her wide, sensitive lips crinkled in a welcoming smile.
He sat across from her, feasting his eyes, drinking in the magnetism she radiated. She knew better than to speak, for Hershel would never forgive her for interrupting one of his ways of saying how much he loved her.
After a while, he took a deep breath and sighed. “You are the most magnificent woman on this earth,” he said softly. “Hello. I adore you.”
“Hello, my darling. I love you, too.” She smiled in that slow, eye catching manner that played on his sensations like the twang of a harp string. “Did you completely undress me with that look?”
He chuckled, his arms aching to reach across the table and haul her over to his side. “No. I stopped at your petticoat. God knows I would have an accident in my trousers if I peeked under that.”
She laughed in her smooth, sensible tone, pinpoints of a flush on her cheeks.
Countess