Title: Dowry

Author: lauraloo

Rating: pg

Category: Romance

Spoilers: Anything through season 8

Summary: Meredith tells the gang an old story that inspires one very stubborn Commander to say something already...

Notes: The story referenced here is an old folk tale with many names, one of which is, “The Eight Cow Bride.” The quote at the beginning is from the song “So are You to Me” by eastmountainsouth.

Dowry

As the music at the banquet,

as the wine before the meal,

as the firelight in the night –

so are you to me...

As the ruby in the setting,

as the fruit upon the tree,

as the wind blows over the plains -

so are you to me,

so are you to me...

Sarah Rabb.

Sarah Mackenzie Rabb.

Lt. Colonel Rabb.

Mrs. Harmon Rabb Jr. Yes, I think that one is my favorite. And the fact that I’ve been awake for 52 minutes means that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.

Just for fun, I trace each variation of my new name with my index finger upon the smooth plane of his back. I’ve been doing it for awhile now, but he’s still asleep, on his stomach, the crisp hotel sheet woven and wrapped lazily around his legs, draped across the top of his hips. With his right hand, he clutches the edge of his pillow, like he’s holding a fist full of diamonds.

He’s simply beautiful. And now, after all these years, he’s mine.

The sun rises early in Tahiti. A bit of it has snuck through the gap in between the heavily lined curtains, illuminating the flecks of gold in his hair. The ones I’ve never noticed before. But then, there’s still so much I have yet to discover.

Two days of honeymooning has revealed a few things, though. I never knew about the freckle that had managed to separate itself from the rest of the pack, hiding in the soft, silky spot behind his right ear lobe. And he loves croissants, too. But only with strawberry jam, and especially if I happen to be seated in his lap, my legs dangling over the wooden arms of the dining chair, stealing a few of the buttery layers. Stealing kisses.

He says my name differently now, too. He still calls me Mac, but he takes his time in doing so, his tone rich and deep, like old mahogany wood. Like I’m his wife.

His wife.

Lord only knows my new and treasured status as wife didn’t come easily. But now that it’s here, it’s staying put. He’s mine now. M-I-N-E – I trace the letters across his back, in grand cursive strokes down the length of his arm.

On our wedding day, a few of his distant relatives asked us how it had finally happened. And my darling husband decided to be funny.

My husband.

“Cows,” he’d said simply, smiling that mischievous smile of his.

When that had inspired wrinkled noses and inquisitive stares, I decided to elaborate a bit. But, the very moment I attempted to open my mouth, my intentions all went to pieces. You see, his arm had moved possessively around my shoulders as he swept his lips across the side of my neck, hinting of thing to come. And then somehow, I couldn’t think at all.

“Proverbial cows,” was all I’d managed to eek out before I found myself floating on the dance floor.

He’d drawn me close, running his thumb over the sparkling ring on my finger. Remembering came to the both of us there, as he breathed my name upon his lips, as he took my life within his hands.

***

It was barely 6 weeks ago that the Admiral and Meredith had come across the extra theater tickets. Bud and Harriet had snapped up the first two in a flash. And when the Admiral had come into Harm’s office, finding the both of us shuffling through the filing cabinet, the remaining tickets had been waved in front of us.

Our eyes had met quickly in silent consultation and after a couple of shoulder shrugs, we’d accepted the invitation. After dinner and the surprisingly wonderful Italian comedy, the whole pack had ended up at Harm’s apartment for coffee and dessert.

We sat around the living room, feasting on raspberry cheesecake, discussing the play. I’d spent the whole evening and at least half of the play trying to convince myself that it wasn’t a date. By that time, I’d gotten pretty darn good at convincing.

Bud set his mug on the coffee table. “You know, it’s a good thing dowries aren’t used anymore around here. I’d have been out of luck for sure.” He glanced down at his pregnant wife, sitting in the chair of the wide arm he’d planted himself on.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Well, Harriet’s parents are rich and well known in their community. There’s no way I could’ve been able to afford any dowry her dad would’ve set.”

Meredith tilted her head, resting her hand on the Admiral’s knee. “Yes, but in the play, Lucetta willingly ran away with Antonio when he couldn’t pay her dowry. She gave it all up – her inheritance, her social position. All for love and devotion. She gave her heart for free.”

Harriet gazed up at Bud, smiling tenderly. “And I would’ve done the same thing. In a heartbeat.”

It was then I noticed that Harm, who’d started out the evening sitting one sofa cushion apart from me, had somehow ended up only inches away, our legs nearly touching. We stole a brief look at one another, suddenly aware of the extreme sense of “couple-ness” in the room. It had happened a few times before, when friendship had suffered a grand and romantic delusion, temporarily confusing itself with dating.

As always, the Admiral’s words immediately shifted our attention. “Well, in my opinion, which you’re free to take or leave at will, dowries aren’t always a bad thing. What about the eight cow bride?” he offered.

Harm scooted to the edge of the sofa, bumping my knee, wrinkling his nose. “Sir? An eight cow bride? Did her wedding dress come from a tent factory or something?”

A wave of eye-rolls swept around the room starting with Harriet, and ending with me. Since I sat closest, I threw in a little head-shake.

Admiral Chegwidden pointed a finger at Harm, chuckling. “Commander, I thought as much at first, until Meredith told me the story.” He looked at her then, eyebrows raised in expectation.

Meredith nodded, handing her plate to her fiancé, slipping into her story-telling mode. All eyes and ears were upon her as she spent a few seconds scratching her chin, running a hand through her hair; her mind, busy, gathering words and phrases.

But before she began, she cast a brief glance my way. I didn’t understand it at the time, but, even so, it had been enough to make me forget all about dates and friends and convincing, if only for a moment.

Meredith cleared her throat and spoke in that wistful way one does when telling a bedtime story.

“Many years ago a man named Johnny Lingo and a friend of his visited a neighboring island in the South Pacific. Immediately, Johnny fell in love with Sarita, a native woman.

Johnny’s friend thought he was crazy, as Sarita was plain and shy and walked with her head down and her shoulders hunched. But Johnny was convinced – this was the woman for him, and no other.

Of course, he would be required to pay a dowry to Sarita’s father for her hand. On that island, cows were extremely valuable and prized. And the worth of a bride was determined by how many cows her father could get for her – any number between one and eight. A dowry of 4-6 cows was most common. An extremely beautiful, poised and skilled woman might occasionally draw seven cows. But a dowry of eight cows was unheard of. There was not an eight cow wife living anywhere on the island.

So you can imagine the expression on Sarita’s father’s face when Johnny Lingo came to his home, offering a dowry of eight cows for his daughter. In shock, thinking that Johnny didn’t correctly understand the custom, he noted that his daughter would be lucky to draw two or three cows.

But, Johnny was insistent. He was going to pay eight cows for Sarita, and not a single cow less. Of course, Sarita’s father wasn’t about to argue and he surely wasn’t stupid. He took the offer.

A year later, Johnny’s friend returned to the island to visit him and his wife. Upon entering the marketplace, his gaze was immediately drawn to the stunning woman that walked past him, a basket of fruit in her hands. She was tall and graceful, with silky black hair that fell in ribbons down her back. She spoke with kindness and moved with such grace and elegance that he simply had to meet her. When he asked a bystander her identity, he was shocked to discover that it was Sarita, the eight cow woman, the wife of the friend whose once-questionable motive now seemed very wise in hindsight.

Sarita was known and respected everywhere, as she was the only eight cow woman on the island. When others had doubted or shunned her in the past, her husband had loved and valued her so much that she grew to value herself.”

It was later, after the others had gone, that I stood in front of Harm’s sink, my arms submerged in dishwater and my mind, in reverie.

“Hey, let me help.” I flinched a little as he strolled into the kitchen. He’d definitely made himself more comfortable, ditching his blazer and tie. He was still wearing the charcoal dress slacks but he’d undone the top two buttons of the pale blue shirt and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. “You’re looking very domestic there, Mac.”

“It does happen on occasion, you know.” I smiled crookedly, pelting a dishtowel his way, a little harder than necessary.

He grabbed a cup from the dish rack. “So, what were you thinking about?”

“Nothing special.” I dunked my hands into the water.

“Sure it was, Mac. You had that look.”

I turned, eyes narrowing. “What look?”

“That look. The one you always get when something captivates that brilliant mind of yours.”

A spurt of laughter escaped from my mouth. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Harm.”

“Just tell me.”

“No. It’s silly.”

He tilted his head. “C’mon, Mac. It’s just between you and me.”

With a sigh, I relented. “Fine. I was thinking about Meredith’s story.”

“And a fine story it was. Any part in particular?” He stacked the dry plates in the cupboard.

I’d already felt a bit foolish for thinking exactly what I’d been thinking. But now, having to elaborate, and to Harm, at that, kicked the feeling of foolishness up one very distinct level. And that would explain why, when I finally did speak, my voice was something akin to a tentative squeak.

“I was just thinking that if it had been me on that tropical island, long ago, how many cows my dowry would’ve been.”

Chuckling, Harm placed the towel on the counter. “Okay, let’s see here.” He smiled deviously, using his arms to measure the entire span of my body from head to toe, from shoulder to shoulder. “Hmm, well, your being a marine makes you strong, which would’ve been an asset back then.”

The lighthearted manner in which he’d responded did ease some of the awkwardness that was darting around in my stomach. I nodded once in agreement.

“And you’re tall and not exactly hard on the eyes.” I swear I saw him wink just then. But I was entirely too busy trying to stop the redness from invading my cheeks.

“’Kay,” was all I could manage.

He scratched his chin. “So, I guess you’d have cost some eager chap about two or three cows.”

Gumption regained again, my mouth shot open as I began my ruthless assault with soapy water. “Harm!”

Laughing, he raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, that was a cheap shot. Your father would’ve definitely gotten more than three.”

“Well, I should hope so! C’mon, Harm, seriously, how many cows?” I challenged pointedly. “More than four?”

He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

My brows shot upward. I couldn’t help but giggle. “More than five?”

“Definitely.”

Intrigued, I pressed on. “More than six?”

“Yep.”

“Well, how many, Harm?”

Right then, I knew my cow number was creeping precariously close to eight. And I just didn’t know quite what to make of that particular observation.

But it was at that moment that everything in the room fell into stillness, as our laughter waned, dripping downward into a long, slow funnel. As my senses awakened.

The fight, the playfulness simply dropped off of my face. My eyelids grew heavy, my cheeks flushed, and I licked my lips once before sealing them together tightly. I was suddenly aware that music was playing in the living room. Piano and acoustic guitar. And all of the lights in his apartment, except the dim bulb over the sink, had been turned off. I noticed the flickering shadows, too, of my body as it filled this space, of the outline of my shape against the wall. And I noticed him.

He was leaning against the counter, hands burrowed into his pockets. He looked at me, straight-on. It was the strange, poignant mystery about him that made me almost turn away. I knew better not to be frightened, but I couldn’t deny the shiver that rippled across my chest. Somehow, something had changed. Nothing would ever be the same. And it had happened right in front of my face.

He decided to speak then, answering the question I’d long since forgotten, in a murmur that blended so effortlessly into the music that I couldn’t tell for sure where melody ended and voice began.

“Truth is, Mac, there just aren’t enough cows.”

My mouth parted as my hand immediately grasped the edge of the counter. His stare melted into softness. It was like he was just waiting, patiently, as I took his words into my mind, my heart, holding them in my hands, jumbling them all around in endless combinations. He was waiting for me to understand.

They’d been simple words. Actually, they’d been quite silly. Since when did a phrase of affection, of intent, include the word ‘cows?’ But then again, this was Harmon Rabb Jr. And it wasn’t as if I had countless references of affectionate phrases from this man to compare this particular one to.

There just aren’t enough cows....

But the way he’d said it, all warm and reverent, it was as if he’d said that there weren’t enough stars in the sky. Or there weren’t enough raindrops. Or rainbows.

I was lucky to find a whisper. “And what does that mean?”

His gaze traveled briefly to the floor, hoping to find a few scraps of courage among the weathered planks. “It means that if you had come at a price and I’d been doing the buying, no matter how much I’d given, your father would’ve always gotten the raw end of the deal.”

Out of nowhere, tears ran down my face and my words came out in a blubbery mess. “And what does that mean?”

Though taken aback by my instant display of emotion, he laughed softly, deep inside his throat. “It means your value can’t be measured. And it means there’s no price too high.” He closed the distance between us, cupping my face in his hands. “It means I love you, Mac.”

Before I could even think of responding, he was kissing me. And holy Lord was he ever kissing me, like a man who’d been seriously starved for kisses. My hands, still wet from the dishwater, raked through his hair, droplets streaming down my forearms.

It could’ve been something close to forever that we just stood there, acquainting ourselves with the way that arms felt, wound tightly around one another, with the way that skin felt, trembling instantly beneath hands; and the way that lips and tongues and necks had found new sensations within mouths that for years, had only called each other friend.

And then, finally, I understood.

***

He stirs now. Even as he moves through that blurry tunnel, stretched between sleeping and waking, he turns and reaches for me. We’ve only been married two days and it’s already an instinct.

“Mornin’ beautiful,” he whispers, hauling my mouth down to his for a proper greeting.

I settle into the crook of his arm. “Are you used to this yet?”

He yawns, draping his leg over me, possessively. “I never wanna get used to it.”

“What?” I question, raising my head.

He plants a playful smack upon my cheek. “That look on your face, the first time you woke up in my arms. I never want to forget that, Mac. That’s the look I wanna see, even fifty years from now.”

“I think that can be arranged, sailor.”

He brings my hand to his lips, kissing it; twirling the amazing ring he’d surprised me with only weeks ago. The center stone is enormous, but it’s the side stones that encompass the real details of this love story. There are four channel set diamonds on each side, one for every cow in that old tale that had been our little piece of magic.

What would you be willing to give up to have me?

It was a question I’d asked him during a time I hope to one day forget. And although I didn’t stick around long enough to hear his answer then, he’s answered it now, in his own spectacular manner.

He gave his love and his name to me as a gift. And I finally understand that in his eyes, I’m not the abused, abandoned child. I’m not the alcoholic or the wayward woman who can’t seem give her love without receiving hurt in return.

I’m the woman he would have paid a thousand cows for, the one he would’ve given up the stripes upon his shoulder, the wings upon his chest for. He would’ve paid my dowry in medals and planes, in ships and careers. Without hesitation. Just because I’m worth it.

But, this man, who’s suddenly drifted back to sleep, understands something too. As it turns out, I never really wanted him to give up anything at all, and I never will. I just wanted him to love me. This bride came for free.

The End