The Waltons and its characters are property of Earl Hamner, Jr., and all legal copyright holders. This story is not intended to infringe upon the rights of any copyright holder.
It was the longest night of his life. Or at least the longest night he could remember. Ike Godsey looked around the deserted store, not sure what to do with himself.
It seemed years ago that he’d been perfectly happy. Content, like a bug in a rug, you might say. Funny how, just when everything’s going smoothly, life comes up and gives you a big pop in the jaw.
He leaned onto the counter, head resting on his folded hands. There was plenty to do. The shelves could use a good dusting. He could tally up the day’s receipts. There was that stack of boxes Corabeth had been pestering him to move to the storage room.
At the thought of his wife, Ike’s spirits sunk once more. None of that seemed to matter now. Not the shelves, not the receipts, and certainly not the damned boxes. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a crumbled sheet of sky-blue stationery. He unfolded it and started reading. It wasn’t necessary to look at the words--he’d read it so many times in the last hour that he could recite it from memory.
“Dearest Corabeth. I have received my orders. I long to be with you. Please come to the Winslow Hotel tomorrow night for a farewell supper. ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more.’”
The note wasn’t signed, but Ike had a pretty good idea who it was. His good buddy, the Army captain. The one who just couldn’t get enough of the beautiful mountain scenery.
Ike refolded the letter and stuffed it into his shirt. Mountain scenery.
“And I gave that guy a free soda pop,” he said to no one in particular. The sound of his own voice cut through the silence, echoing the foolish statement through the empty store. He stared at the night filtering through the store’s front window, vaguely noticing that he’d forgotten to put the closed sign up. It didn’t matter. He hadn’t closed the store. He just sat there, watching the day end. Here it was, already....
He checked his watch. Quarter to six. She’d been gone less than an hour. Why did it feel like a lifetime had passed? His lifetime. Ike pulled in a deep breath. He tried to be angry, to be frightened, to feel anything. But he felt nothing except a heaviness on his heart.
He was probably in shock. Time didn’t matter. It was a weird feeling.
Ike got up, leaving the store unattended, and walked back into the house. It seemed so empty with Aimee off at school and Corabeth gone. He heard the clicking of his shoes on the wooden floors; his own breathing loud and labored in the silence. Walking into the bedroom, he stood for a moment at the vanity. He picked up the heavy silver brush Corabeth had inherited from her mother. She used it every night. Tracing the delicate engraving with the pad of his thumb, he held it close to his heart. For a moment, he didn’t know what else to do.
How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so blind? The man had walked right into his store, into his very home, and had stolen his wife out from under him.
They say that hindsight is 20/20, and Ike Godsey was seeing things a whole lot clearer this night. Her unusual quiet. Her repeated questions as to whether he had missed her, whether he’d needed her. In her own way, she’d been telling him, trying to tell him. He’d just been too dense to hear.
A noise in the front snapped him back to attention.
“Ike?”
It was Jason Walton. Ike gathered his wits about him, forcing a smile on his face as he headed back up front. “Jason. You’re in late.”
“Just heading out for the Dew Drop and saw the lights on. Is everything all right?”
Ike felt his heart starting to pound in his chest. Why on earth did he have to ask that of all questions? Smile, he thought. Just smile, and make him go away.
“Oh, just working late.” He hoped his voice wasn’t too jolly, his smile too broad.
But Jason, like most people for whom life tends to go smoothly, took him at his word and smiled back. “Well, don’t work too hard. Where’s Corabeth?”
The second worst question he could have asked. “Uh, she’s--” Ike looked down at his hands, then over at the counter. The money bag lay untouched alongside the ledger. He had to be more careful.
“Ike?”
He snapped back into the present, smiling too wide once more. “She’s having dinner with her Aunt Minerva.” The lie sounded even worse when he said it.
Jason rolled his eyes. “Another aunt, huh? Well, if you have some time, stop by the Dew Drop. I’ll give you a beer on the house.” He grinned. “In other words, we can take it off what I owe you.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Ike gestured helplessly around the store. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on here. Thanks anyway.”
“Okay, but the offer’s open if you change your mind.” Jason winked. “You know what they say--when Corabeth’s away, the mice come out and play.”
Ike forced a laugh as Jason left.
Yeah. Some party. He sat back behind the counter. Again, he hadn’t turned the sign over. The door was still unlocked. Ike drew in a deep breath. His mind kept wandering to the Winslow Hotel lobby. He’d been there once, on his and Corabeth’s second anniversary. She’d been immediately taken with the grand decorations, the antique furniture polished to a shine. They’d toasted each other with champagne at dinner and splurged for a room.
The thought of Corabeth now, sipping champagne in one of those rooms, sent the blood to his brain in a fever. “What kind of man are you?” he muttered to himself. A real man would get down to that hotel and fight for his marriage. A real man wouldn’t let some slick-talking officer walk away with his wife. As quickly as the rage fired in his heart, it died away. Of course he wouldn’t go down to the hotel. What right had he to be angry? It wasn’t as if his slate were so clean.
His mind went immediately to Pamela, to that crazy summer when he’d actually dared to have a fling of his own. He’d felt guilty at the time, terribly guilty. But he’d never imagined Corabeth could feel the kind of pain he felt now. Fortunately, she’d never found out about his affair. Hopefully, she never would.
No, he had no right to storm and rage like a cuckolded fool. Besides, as his mind twirled possibility after possibility like four-leaf clovers, he kept coming up with the same outcome: Corabeth walking out on him.
She’d done it before, for much less reason and with much less to run toward. If he stormed into that hotel and found her in the arms of another man, her pride would force her to leave. On the other hand, if he stormed in to find her with her Aunt Minerva, and she figured out what he suspected, she’d leave him out of sheer fury.
Either way, he lost.
Ike couldn’t remember ever feeling so tired. He rested his head on the counter, curling his forearms under his cheek like a pillow. An image of Corabeth kept flashing through his mind, Corabeth in the arms of that Army fellow, laughing, dancing.
Happy.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the image away through sheer strength of will. It didn’t help. The more he tried to stop thinking, the more graphic his thoughts became. Corabeth smiling her bedtime smile; Corabeth’s hair falling carelessly around her bare shoulders; Corabeth’s lips parting as her eyes closed and her head dropped backwards in arousal.
“Ow!” The sack of change he’d been idly counting fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Cursing under his breath, Ike got down on his hands and knees and began gathering coins. How dare that bastard sleep with his wife? He thought back on the years they’d been married. They’d learned together, awkwardly, clumsily. If she knew anything about lovemaking, it was because of him. Because of his patience. And that--that--
Ike stopped, sitting back on his heels. Tears burned into his eyes as he thought back to their first night together as man and wife.
“Corabeth?” Ike tapped lightly on the locked bathroom door. No answer. He knocked again. “Corabeth, honey? Are you okay?” Still no response. It seemed like weeks since his bride had locked herself in the bathroom.
Ike let out a huge sigh, abandoning the door to sit on the hotel room bed. As his head dropped with a dejected jerk to his chest, he noticed that his brand-new pajamas still had the creases in them. Not that Corabeth would notice. He was beginning to question the wisdom of this marriage.
He hadn’t expected Corabeth to be some movie-star sex goddess. He hadn’t expected Greta Garbo. All he wanted was a nice evening together. He took an orange from the small basket of fruit on the night stand. Leaning against the headboard, he began absently peeling it, dropping shreds of orange peel on his crisp new pajama tops. It wasn’t like she was the only one nervous. He’d practically slit his own throat trying to shave this morning; he hadn’t slept a wink all night, and his stomach had been queasy for two days.
But she was the one locked in the bathroom. Ike looked at the orange, half-peeled and unappetizing, and put it back in the basket. He stared at the closed door. All he’d done was kiss her. Just a gentle peck, nothing scary. And she’d slammed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She’d been in there for... He looked at the clock by the bed. Five minutes. Ike frowned. Well, it seemed longer than that. Lots longer.
He lay back on the bed, wondering what was wrong with him. He tried to do everything right. They’d had a lovely dinner in the hotel restaurant--he’d let her order anything on the menu, no matter how expensive. He’d held doors for her, complimented her dress and hair, even made a few jokes to lighten the mood. And she’d suffered through it like a turkey on the day before Thanksgiving.
Ike dropped his head into the pillow with a thud. It wasn’t fair. Just not fair, he thought as he closed his eyes. He was just nodding off when the bathroom door opened. He stiffened, then heard rather than saw his wife enter the room. He kept his eyes shut, terrified of setting off another panic-stricken trip to the bathroom.
There was a long silence. She was just standing there next to the bed. Ike could almost feel her gaze on him, the tension in the air, the fear in her. He wanted to open his eyes, to let her know it was okay--he wasn’t going to hurt her. But he lay still.
After a few moments, he felt the bed shift slightly as she crawled in next to him. She didn’t touch him; if she’d pulled any further to her end of the bed, she’d have fallen on the floor. But she was there.
Ike didn’t know what to do. He’d only been with one woman in his whole life. His service buddies had brought him to a cat-house to celebrate his 18th birthday. Kit--that was her name. It must have been obvious to her that he was a scared little virgin, because Kit had guided him through the whole thing with patience and humor. On the whole, a good experience.
But this time, Ike was the experienced one. His stomach churned. It was the blind leading the blind.
He could hear Corabeth’s measured breathing next to him. It sounded like she was trying to control her breaths. Good. Anything she could do to stay calm wouldn’t hurt.
“Mr. Godsey?” A tiny voice that broke the silence. Ike could hear the fear in that sound, the courage it had taken to say those two small words. He couldn’t help a smile.
“Corabeth,” was his answer, just as softly spoken.
Another long silence followed as Corabeth struggled to find the words. “I...I apologize...for my behavior tonight. I wish to assure you that--” Here she cut off, coughing slightly. “I wish to...assure you...that I have every intention of...fulfilling my marital obligations.”
Ike’s smile widened into a full-fledged grin. He loved the way she talked. He didn’t understand a third what she said, but it sure sounded nice. “I’m sorry, too, Corabeth. I shouldn’t have gone so fast.”
Silence. “Your apology is unnecessary, Mr. Godsey. You were nothing short of a complete gentleman.... But I thank you for being so...understanding.”
There was really nothing to say to that, and the couple fell into another long silence. Ike was beginning to think Corabeth had fallen asleep when he felt a warm hand on his chest. His sharp intake of breath startled her, and she immediately pulled her hand away.
Damn it, he thought. Control yourself. He considered reaching out for her, but couldn’t work up the nerve. This was pathetic. They were going to be celebrating their silver anniversary before they worked up the courage to consummate the marriage.
To his surprise, he felt her hand again, this time on his forearm. She barely touched him as she traced her finger down the crisp line of his pajama sleeve. Ike had to control his reaction. It had been so long since he’d been this close to a woman; her timid contact was more exciting to him than the raciest of blue magazines.
Her fingertip touched the skin of his wrist. Ike hesitated, then grasped her hand. She didn’t pull it away. They lay there for a long moment, just holding hands.
“Mr. Godsey,” she whispered. “I think...I think I am ready now.”
For some reason, this struck Ike as funny. He tried to hold in the laugh, but couldn’t help himself.
Corabeth snapped her hand away. “I don’t believe what I said was in any way humorous, Mr. Godsey.”
Ike chuckled, realizing he was probably ruining his chance of ever having sex with this woman, but unable to stop. “I’m sorry, Corabeth. I really am.”
“I don’t see what’s so funny.”
He coughed hard, trying to stop the bubbling laughter in his chest. “It’s just...it’s just...”
“What?”
“You sound like Joan of Arc, waiting to be brought to the fire.” He dissolved into another fit of laughter, this image of Corabeth in armor waiting to be burned as a witch plastered across his mind.
He waited for a response. None came. Ike swallowed hard. He’d thought she’d find it funny, too. There was no way he was ever going to consummate this marriage.
Corabeth shifted. Oh, lord, another trip to the bathroom. He almost choked when she rolled on top of him. They were roughly the same height, so her toes curled into the sheets just between his feet as she kissed him hard on the mouth.
A rush of blood shot through his entire body. Ike struggled to catch his breath as the kiss deepened. Somehow, he managed to wrap his arms around her. He could feel himself stiffening in his private areas. From her position on top, Corabeth couldn’t possibly not feel it.
If it bothered her, she didn’t show it. In the rush, she’d gotten her hands trapped between them. Ike felt her fingers flex as she pressed them into his chest. She smelled unbelievable--lavender and vanilla, combined with a scent unique to her. By the time she broke the kiss, resting her head in the curve of his neck, he was filled with the scent of her. He pressed his lips into her hair, whispering her name.
They lay there like that for a long, long time. Ike shut his eyes hard. Part of him could have spent the rest of his life like that, with her in his arms. But another, more insistent part of him was demanding attention. He pressed hot kisses down her neck, grazing his teeth lightly against the flesh.
Corabeth moaned softly as he continued his exploration of her throat and collarbone. She reached behind him, lifting herself slightly, and allowed him to kiss his way down the cleft between her breasts.
In a single, fluid motion, Ike rolled her onto her back. She didn’t complain, but she couldn’t look into his eyes. He pulled himself up till he was kneeling beside her on the bed. A grid of light from the blinds sparkled over her body. She wore a flimsy satin gown held in place by two straps no thicker than twine. Ike had to resist the urge to pull it off of her.
Breathing deeply, he rolled a strap over her right shoulder. She tensed, but Ike kept his palm firmly on her skin. Eventually, she relaxed. Gathering his courage, he slipped the other strap off. Her eyes were closed. Ike didn’t want to stare, but as his hands revealed more, he was drawn in to the sight of her, stretched out in the dappled light.
He kissed her breast, delighted when the tiny knob of flesh hardened under his breath. Licking it gently, he couldn’t help taking it into his mouth. He blushed. Nursing like a baby. At least her eyes were closed; she wouldn’t see the blood rushing to his cheeks as he sucked gently. Her sigh when he released the nipple turned into a low moan as he began nibbling on the soft underneath of her breast.
The kneeling position was getting awkward. Ike stretched out on his side, then continued his probing kisses. Another nipple found itself between his lips. Corabeth was breathing hard now. Ike caressed the soft expanse of her belly--not quite flat, but sweetly curved in the most feminine way.
As much as he was enjoying this, it was getting difficult to ignore the hardness between his legs. A few more moments, and Corabeth’s satin gown lay in a puddle on the floor next to the bed. Her stomach rose and fell as she struggled to steady her breathing.
He lay there, stunned by the sight of her. Ike felt another wave of nervousness sweep over him as his fingertip met the soft curls between her legs and stroked them tentatively. When she made no protest, Ike increased the contact, petting her, gently caressing.
Emboldened by her acceptance of his advances, Ike leaned over and placed a kiss on her inner thigh. Corabeth yelped, pulling away slightly.
“It’s okay, honey. I promise.” He waited till she calmed down, then kissed her again, this time on the curve of her hip. An image of Kit, the lady at the cat-house, burst into his mind. She must have felt sorry for him, because she’d told him she would teach him how to make any woman happy in bed. He’d been skeptical at first, but now, in his own bed, he couldn’t wait to taste his wife in the same way.
He gently spread her thighs, kissing and nibbling the soft fleshy curves. Corabeth tensed, but didn’t protest. With more enthusiasm than expertise, Ike Godsey stumbled onto the spot Kit had shown him and licked for all he was worth. He barely heard Corabeth as her tiny, gasping cries grew into outright moans. All he knew was that he was going to have to make love to her soon or he was going to explode.
Ike looked up at her, his own breathing matching hers. “Corabeth,” he choked between breaths. “Are you....I mean, is it okay...”
She nodded hard, a frantic “yes” escaping her trembling lips. No Joan of Arc this time. Ike climbed atop her, trying hard to control himself long enough to do this right. When she tugged at the waistband of his pajamas, though, he almost lost it. He helped her to remove them and, soon enough, both the bottoms and the shirt found their way to the floor next to her gown.
He lowered himself slowly, guiding himself between her. Despite the fact that she was quite wet, he met with a good deal of resistance when he tried to enter her. She cried out as he pushed forward, stopping periodically to let her adjust to his size. His hands spread beneath her hips, tilting her slightly to allow him more access. She relaxed, and he was able to get almost all the way in before hitting a barrier.
Oh, lord, he thought, realizing what he was going to have to do. He leaned forward, providing as much body contact as he could as he whispered, “This might hurt a little, honey.”
She nodded into his shoulder. “Quickly,” she whispered.
Without another word, Ike took a deep breath and did what was necessary. Her cry of pain broke his heart. He held her tightly, allowing her tears to burn into his shoulders as she got used to the feeling. Her inexperienced body strained to hold him inside. Ike tried to distract himself from the snug, warm feel of her. The only thing keeping him from immediate orgasm was the guilt he felt at causing her pain. They lay together, perfectly still, for a long time.
Eventually, their hearts started beating in rhythm, a steady tempo that spread to her hips as they began moving against him. Before he knew it, they were making love in earnest, their bodies slick with heat and excitement. Ike couldn’t hold it in anymore--he came with a shout inside of her.
After pausing to catch his breath, he started to roll off of her, but Corabeth held him there for a long time before releasing his shoulders.
“Wow,” he couldn’t help saying. Corabeth remained silent, but it was different now. The fear was gone, for the most part. Shy. Embarrassed. But no longer afraid.
He was about to doze off when Corabeth sat up on the edge of the bed. At his concerned look, she placed the tips of her fingers over his lips. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured. Ike watched as she quickly retrieved her nightgown, pulled it over her head, and stepped into the bathroom. He was quite pleased with himself.
Ike dropped the last of the wayward pennies into the bag with a soft clink. He didn’t know how long he’d been crouched there, lost in his own memories. His joints cracked and popped as he stretched into a standing position behind the counter. Too long, he mused.
As his eyes made a quick scan of the storage space below the counter, a crisp corner of paper caught his attention. Ike leaned over to pull it from behind the boxes where it was hidden. He smiled when he realized what it was--the recording of Carmen he’d bought for Corabeth a week earlier. He’d meant to move it to another hiding place, maybe in the attic, but kept forgetting to do so. He fingered the wrapping paper, stretched taut over the record’s corner. He’d intended to give this to her for her birthday. If she’d walk through that door right now, he’d gladly buy her the New York Metropolitan Opera.
Ike shook his head, tucking the gift back under the counter. Hadn’t the last few years proven he couldn’t buy her love? They were more well-off than they’d ever been, but the distance between them had never been greater.
“No,” he whispered, his voice harsh against the stillness. There had been more distance between them, once.
She’d been drinking again. Ike could feel it in his bones. He could feel it in his gut. Somehow, no matter how hard he tried to put the truth behind him, it came back full-force whenever the sun set.
That was the worst time of it. After dark, his mother used to say, all the monsters seem bigger. This was usually said when she was tucking him in, all warmth and love and safety. Ike’s mother had been gone for years, and he didn’t really pine for her often. But these days, with Corabeth spiraling out of control, what he wouldn’t have given for his mother’s calming influence.
Corabeth had been completely sober since the incident where she’d almost wrecked the car with Aimee and Elizabeth along for the ride. She’d been shamed, terrified, embarrassed into sobriety. And Ike tried for all he was worth to encourage that sobriety. It wasn’t that easy with his wife.
First of all, she could barely admit that the problem had ever existed. Whenever he tried to talk to her about it, she simply requested that he didn’t mention “that painful time.” Ike didn’t know much about alcoholism, but it didn’t seem likely to him that you could solve a problem without at least admitting you had it.
Still, Corabeth had done fairly well for a long time. But with Aimee gone...
He and Corabeth had had their share of fights in their time. But the fight over Aimee’s boarding school was the biggest of them all. They fought, and cried, and froze each other out with unbearable silences before Ike finally gave in. Corabeth won. Aimee would have, as Corabeth put it, “an education befitting a young lady of breeding and culture.”
They’d brought her to Doe Hill themselves three weeks ago. Aimee had been brave about it, so brave it brought tears to Ike’s eyes. He didn’t want that little girl out of his life for so long. But Corabeth....
It had been her idea. She’d fought for it, tooth and nail. Ike didn’t notice the change in her at first. Her moods seemed more distinct, her anger quicker, her tears easier. Then, without warning ,she seemed quieter, subdued.
Then he’d found the bottle of sherry in the trash bin. She’d gotten better at hiding it this time, he noticed. The minute he was tipped off, thought, the signs were unmistakable. She had memory lapses. She changed her mind five hundred times a day.
And whenever he’d ask her about it...well, the couch was getting less comfortable each time he had to wake up on it. He didn’t know what to do. Their last fight had sent her into the bedroom, locking the door behind her with a slam. If he’d had a nickel for every locked door she’d ever put between them, he could buy out Barney Baruch and still have enough left over for a hot dog.
Ike paced the front porch of the store, cool night air blowing against his face and hands. He couldn’t just let this continue. The last time, three people nearly got killed before John had forced him to take the matter under control. He scuffed his heel against the wooden planks.
It wasn’t going to take that long this time.
The Dew Drop Inn was in full swing when he got there. Daisy, the new waitress Cally May had hired, noticed him right off. “Hi, Ike. What brings you in this late?”
“Just need something, Daisy,” he mumbled, making his way straight to the bar. Jason Walton was playing a snappy tune on the piano. He nodded in Ike’s direction, but the older man paid no mind to him.
Cally stepped up from behind the bar. “Well, Ike, how are you this evening?”
“I need a bottle of the strongest whiskey you’ve got.”
Cally lifted an admiring eyebrow. “That good, huh?”
Ike narrowed his eyes, ignoring the joke. “Are you going to sell me what I want, or do I have to drive all the way to Charlottesville?”
His hostess became immediately serious. “No sense in you driving all that way, Ike. Is everything okay?” There was no mistaking the concern in her voice. On any other night, Ike would have made an attempt to reassure her. But tonight was not any other night.
Cally May shrugged and pulled a bottle of whiskey off the shelf. She placed it before Ike Godsey with a thud. “Do you want a glass, or will you just drink it out the bottle?”
Another dead silence as Ike let the joke fall, untouched, to the floor. “How much?”
“Why don’t you take it off my tab at the store,” she said gently.
“Fine,” was all he muttered as he walked out the door. Cally May watched for a long time, jumping as Jason stepped up behind her.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Part 2
