She was wearing a dark blue nightie. The Oregon Coast nights can be chilly even in the summer, and the covers were not there just for modesty. I looked at her in the dim light and watched her breasts rising and falling with her steady breathing, the blue cloth took her shape and then relaxed, the rhythmic appearance of her nipples creating a hypnotic pattern for me. I wanted so much to touch her, but somehow it did not seem right to break this spell. The morning was cold and foggy . . . big surprise! Taking turns, we dressed in warm clothes separately. We laughed at that as I made coffee while she sorted out the jumble of cast off plates and utensils. She put together our breakfast with what we had brought and what had been left for us– all that in about the time it took me to get a fire started from the damp wood in the fireplace. We laughed at the damp, too, knowing that our mutual friends were now imagining us romping in bathing suits on hot sand, or splashing topless in the hot. # The storm that raged around Aspenwald that night seemed intent on blowing down the stone. Lightning flashed in the window and the thunderclaps were almost simultaneous. I hadn't jumped from a storm since I was a child, but I clutched the quilt now. "Poor kitten," Mary said, using my father's pet name for me. "I'll get some milk to warm. That will put you right back to sleep." "Henry warned me again about walking the halls at night," I told her. "Oh, posh. No ghost is going to bother old Mary." She was pale and I suspected wanted something to do, so I gave my assent. And I was quickly regretful. Being left alone in my chamber, without even her presence, made the storm that much more ominous. I thought of my uncle and worried about him coming to my room. I got out of bed and put on my dressing gown and slippers, pacing the floor. I waited for what seemed like an hour but Mary didn't come back. The storm blew aside until only driving rain remained and still she didn't return. I lit a.
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