The Flame and the Flower by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

a man bed you? If that be it, rest at ease. I would naught touch you lest you felt ready for me."
     
    She smiled sadly. Here was patience and love offered to her and she could not take them. Captain Birmingham had seen to that. What a difference there was between the two men. She couldn't feature the bearded captain of the Fleetwood being so patient with a woman. It was a pity she couldn't marry Henry and lead a normal quiet life here in the village and raise children they both could love. But that was out of the question now.
     
    "Henry," she whispered softly, "you would do well to notice Sarah. She loves you very much and she would make you a good wife."
     
    "Sarah don't know who she loves," Henry snapped. "She's always chasing after some boy and right now it happens to be me."
     
    She chided him gently. "Henry, that isn't so. She sees no one but you. She wants to marry you very much."
     
    Henry wasn't having any of it. "But I want you for my wife, Heather, not some simple-minded, plain girl like Sarah."
     
    "You shouldn't say things that aren't true, Henry," she said in the same soft, reproving voice. "Sarah would make a far better wife than I."
     
    "Please! Don't speak more of her!" Henry cried. His face had taken on a tormented expression, not so different from the one that had been on Sarah's face. "I want only to look at and think of you. Please, Heather, I must have your uncle's permission to court you. I can't wait much longer to make you my wife."
     
    Here it was, a plea for her hand. Her aunt perhaps would be surprised. But it was too late. Now she had to convince this gentle man that she couldn't marry him. But he would not listen. What was she expected to do—tell him what had happened to her? Then he would be repulsed, sickened, and she would be shamed.
     
    "Henry, I won't ask my aunt if she will allow it. I cannot marry you. It wouldn't be fair to you. I could never be happy here. Don't you see, Henry? I was brought up much differently. I'm used to having everything done for me and being dressed in the finest clothes. I can't be content being a mere cobbler's wife."
     
    The look on his face plunged a sharp pain through her bosom, yet Heather knew it was best this way. He would soon be able to lick his wounds and realize he had a life to live without her. She watched in agony as he staggered from her, blinded by his tears.
     
    "Oh my God!" he cried. "I loved you the moment I saw you. I naught could think of no one but you these two years past. And now, you say I'm not good enough for you. You're a black-hearted wench, Heather Simmons! May God have mercy on your soul!"
     
    Heather stretched out a hand to him pleadingly, but he was gone, not caring where he ran, stumbling, then rising again. Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she watched him run away.
     
    "I'm cruel," she thought. "I've hurt him deeply and now he will despise me."
     
    She turned toward the cart and walked slowly back. Her uncle was watching her. He always watched her now. Was he ever to stop?
     
    "What's the matter with young Henry?" he wanted to know when he reached down to pull her into the cart. His fingers closed over her upper arm, and he lifted her up as she clung to his shoulder.
     
    "He asked to court me," she murmured, taking a place beside him on the narrow seat. She wished not to discuss it. Her stomach quivered and she felt sick.
     
    "And you told him no?" he questioned.
     
    She nodded her head slowly as though an incautious movement might make her retch. She shuddered and was silent, and he, thankfully, stared off into the distance over the head of the old horse that pulled them, lost in thought.
     
    The first of October passed and the weather grew cooler. Here and there a stray leaf drifted to the ground and came to rest on grass still green. Squirrels could be seen scurrying along limbs of trees in search of food to hoard for the winter. Soon it would be time for slaughter and Heather