by Naomi Musch
"Lang, I—" She stepped forward.
He looked up.
"I—"
His brows twitched.
"I've wanted to talk to you about Jacob."
He set the letter down and leaned one hip against the table.
Her heart thrummed, and she curled her fingers as she let the confession reel out. "I was wrong too. While you were away, and when you didn't write..." She shook her head. "Even before then. I—I looked to Jacob for help...much more than I should have. I let him... I let him become too important to me, and—"
Lang stood and lifted a hand. "Rilla. It's okay."
"No. Don't stop me, Lang. I need to say it. I believed I had come to care for him more than I should, and it was wrong of me. But I—I don't feel that way now. I'm sorry." She forced down a lump in her throat. "I hope you can forgive me too."
Bertie threw his spoon onto the floor and started to cry. Lang dipped his head to study his son and then looked back at her. He nodded, and for the first time, she believed he had been wounded by her behavior toward Jacob. He had acted cavalier in the beginning, but she had hurt him. "I understand, Rilla. And I forgive you."
She took in a breath and let it out, surprised at how good the air felt. Bertie squirmed against the dishtowel binding him to the chair, and Lang moved aside as she went to the baby, working at the knot to release him. As she scooped Bertie into her arms, she looked at Lang again.
His lips were pressed together, but feelings unneeded to be spoken lay open in his dark eyes.
She shushed the baby and took him to the rocking chair to nurse him. She turned to sit down as Lang slipped out of the cabin and closed the door behind him.
She tucked Bertie down for a morning nap and cleaned Dora up from her breakfast. As Dora wandered to her toys, Marilla went into the bedroom and stood at the window, looking out to the house where Lang had worked with such diligence in his free hours.
I forgive you.
Her confession to him and his response released the terrible pinching inside, made the past fall away. She rubbed a finger over her lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss him the way she once had, with all of her. In all these weeks, Lang had not tried to broach the subject of intimacy between them. He hadn't forced the issue of their living separate lives together. More than once, she had sensed a longing in him he couldn't quite keep under control, though she credited him for trying. Turning away from the window, she made the bed and fluffed their pillows then paused. She always kept an extra blanket there for Bertie, since he so often kicked his way free from theirs in the night. She picked up the blanket and laid it over her arm, thought a moment longer, and carried it to his crib by Dora's in the other room. She glanced at him sleeping as she hung the blanket on the crib rail. She whispered, "Guess where you're sleeping tonight, my little man?"
Lang came home from the farm for lunch. He seemed to have cleared his thoughts, or at least he had them managed. He spoke easily to her of his intentions for the rest of the day. He had a little straw left to cut, and then the harvest would be complete. He expressed how anxious he was to finish so he could focus on the house project and splitting the rest of the coming winter's firewood.
"I'll be home as early as I can, but I hope to get it all in the barn today."
"Is there any way I can help?"
He smiled and kissed Dora goodbye as he tugged on his hat. "Just keep my supper warm."
She nodded as he closed the door, wondering if his supper would be half as warm as the glow he made her feel inside.
~~~~~
Exhaustion weakened Lang's limbs, and he smelled bad. Tomorrow was Sunday. He had hoped to take Rilla and the children to church so they could visit Emmett's grave afterward together. Her willingness to go with him, and even more surprising, her confession about Jacob set his direction clearly. Words of forgiveness were one thing, but he intended to prove it. He would see to it that his family was in church, no matter how tired he was right now.
That meant a bath tonight, even though it was all he could do to drag himself home to supper and bed. At least the straw was mounded and covered for the cow's winter bedding, and all the harvest had been brought in. Another high potato yield had been shipped off, and their root cellar was full. He would be able to till the fields under and finish the firewood at leisure, as long as they didn't get an early snow.
He intended to spend most of his time in the next month finishing work on the house. It might not be complete when he moved them in. There would be walls to paint and trim to add, but it would suit them for winter, especially with his brother Roland coming to stay. With the new cook stove as well as the stove in the living room to warm them, he had put vents in the upstairs bedroom floors for the heat to rise through too. His little family would stay as snug as they could be during the cold months ahead.
Thoughts of the new stove made him think again of Rilla's confession. There was no point in telling her he had once steered her toward Jacob. That truth would cause hurt and was a confession better left between him and God. Nevertheless, he wondered if her feelings would be the same if she saw Jacob again. Had she really let them go? Lang was still a little surprised—and pleased, truth be told—that Jacob was leaving for the Dakotas. The two of them had come to terms, he supposed; but, it didn't help his situation with Rilla always knowing that Jacob was right at hand if things went sour.
Things won't go sour. Not now. Not if I can show her how much I love her.
An oil lamp burned on the table, glowing through the cabin window upon his return home, just as it often did this time of year. The smell of fall lay heavy on the night air—wood smoke and damp leaf mold. That smell, mingled with the smell of bombs and gunpowder, made him miss home last year when he was first introduced to life in a muddy trench. When the colder weather came, that smell reeked of death. He doubted he would ever forget it, and he hoped he would never have to smell it again.
He thought of Dickie, and he smiled over memories of Dickie's laughter and teasing, of how he'd stuck by Lang like a brother. He still hadn't written to Dickie's sister. He would do that tomorrow too. The nightmares had stopped, and the pain had lessened. The memories of Dickie, however, would remain in a safe place within Lang.
Lang took a deep breath of fresh air before he pushed open the door, quietly in case the children were asleep. He had gotten used to doing that, though it had taken him a bit of training. As he suspected, the house lay soundless. He was surprised to see, though, that Rilla had brought the metal tub inside and filled it with hot water in expectation of him wanting a Saturday night bath.
"I used it first." The soft sound of her voice turned him, and he couldn't help smiling and letting his gaze linger for just a moment. She wore her nightgown and robe, and her long blond hair lay damp around her shoulders, almost to her waist.
"That's all right. I've had to share wash water with half a dozen filthy soldiers. You're nothing like them. You don't even get enough dirt on you for it to count."
She chuckled. "I beg to differ, but as long as you don't mind."
"I don't mind." His gaze roved over her again, and he had to force himself to look away. At least she didn't seem to notice or care. He shucked off his coat and hung it on the peg. Then he pulled off his boots while she checked on the sleeping children.
"I think they're out for the night," she whispered.
That was when he realized Bertie was asleep in his own bed. Lang tried to hide his surprise and started unbuttoning his shirt, missing a button or two. Rilla bit her lip.
"Guess I'll get in the tub right away."
She nodded and withdrew into their bedroom, but she left the door open.
He didn't linger. Lamplight from their room beckoned him. Did she intend to...? He hoped, but was afraid to just the same. He couldn't succumb to his thoughts without her leading him, and unless she led him, nothing would happen. He had promised himself. Still, tiredness fled as he plunged beneath the water and scrubbed furiously. He cl
imbed out of the tub a few minutes later, toweling dry and wiping up the floor. The tub could wait until morning to be emptied.
Lang glanced around. She had hung his pajamas on a chair. He slipped into them and moved on cat's feet toward the bedroom door. He hadn't expected her eyes to be upon him, those blue-green oceans, watching him, waiting for him. He stepped inside and closed the door most of the way, leaving it open a crack so she'd be able to hear if Bertie woke up.
Her gaze hadn't left him. It, like his own, was full of questions and, possibly, daring.
He cleared his throat. "Are you okay with this? Without Bertie being here, I mean?"
Slowly and without speaking, she pushed back the blankets. Lang sat down and slid his feet beneath. Then he turned to face her. He didn't know when the last time was she had gone to bed with her hair down, damp or not. Had it been a year and a half ago, when she had opened herself up to him, and then he'd gone away? That time was a blur in his memory. They'd gotten Bertie because of it, but she had not been given anything in true love. This time would be different, if there was a this time...
"Lang," she whispered, "I'm sorry. You said you forgave me, and I forgive you, and—"
He dared to raise his hand, stopping her, and stroked a finger through her hair, tucking it away from her face. Her skin was warm and soft. Touching it heightened every sense in his body, but the yearning to hold her wasn't nearly as strong as the aching need to love her. "Thank you. It's all I've wanted. Even if you can't love me like you used to, to know you forgive my idiocy—"
"I love you, Lang." Her eyes glistened. "I've always loved you."
He barely breathed. "Still? Are you sure?"
She nodded, the movement of her head like silk stirring beneath his fingertips.
Lang moved closer. He stroked her hair again and cradled her cheek. He felt the uptake of her breath and the slow exhale against him as he leaned his forehead close to hers. "I love you so much, Rilla. If it takes the rest of my life to convince you, then that's what I'll give. It's what I want to give—"
Her soft mouth pressed against his, stopping his words. He tasted her sweetness, her hunger. Need met need, and his pulse raced. Rilla. Rilla. Rilla. He slipped the gown from her shoulder.
Chapter Forty-One
A chilly wind whipped around their shoulders and swept a sprinkling of rain across the platform as Lang and Marilla hurried from the car to the depot. Mrs. Eckert had come to the cabin to stay with the babies this morning so Lang could bring Marilla with him to meet Roland at the station. He was looking forward not only to seeing his brother again, but also to having Roland's help settling them into the new house. Some of the rooms still lay dusted with wood shavings, and several walls in the upstairs bedrooms remained to be papered, but Lang was determined to have Marilla and the children safely ensconced in their new abode before the real cold of the season began. He couldn't take her on a second honeymoon for their anniversary, but he could give her the gift of a nicer home, something she'd deserved for far too long now.
Lang put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer to his warmth as they stepped through the door into the crowded depot. In the corner, the fire in the potbelly stove glowed through its cracks in welcome.
"Roland won't know what to think of our strange Wisconsin autumn."
"Trust me, it gets cold in Jersey."
Wind whistled in the stovepipe, and she nodded while she glanced around at the people gathered. Then Lang saw him. Jacob Hessman leaned against the wall at the far side of the room, a trunk at his feet, watching them.
Rilla stilled as she noticed him too.
Lang cleared his throat. "Let's say hello."
Jacob straightened at their approach, his gaze narrowing.
Lang spoke first, holding out his hand. "Hello, Jacob."
Jacob shook his hand. "Mr. Prescott. Mrs. Prescott."
"Hello, Jacob."
Lang noted that she didn't use such formality with her old friend. Did she bear regrets?
She frowned. "You're going away then?"
"Today. Yes. I'll arrive at my sister's tomorrow."
"Did you pack enough to eat?"
Jacob chuckled. "I have made sure to clean out the store."
"Miserable weather for traveling," Lang said.
Jacob agreed. "But you are going somewhere?"
She shook her head. "Lang's younger brother Roland is coming to stay with us. He'll work for Lang and my father on the farm."
Jacob took in the information and nodded, but so many other things unspoken lay in his gaze. "I surely did not expect to see anyone I knew here today. I suppose it is appropriate to have someone to tell goodbye."
Rilla’s chin lifted. "Goodbye, Jacob. We wish you well." She spoke without pain in her voice, without cost. That's when Lang knew. She meant everything she had said to him. She looked at Lang, love shining in her eyes.
He dipped his head. "Yes. We wish you the best, Jacob."
She slipped her hand beneath Lang's arm and pressed against his shoulder, her action letting Jacob know that all was indeed well without saying, but Lang understood. He pressed her hand, and just then a train whistle called their attention to the windows, and an announcement was made over the speaker. Jacob looked at them one last time. "That's mine." He picked up his trunk.
"Travel safely," Lang said.
Rilla nodded. "Say hello to your sister, and tell her how very sorry I am for her loss. I can't imagine if Lang hadn't come home."
He glanced between them and smiled. "I will tell her. Thank you."
Lang shook Jacob's hand again. "We'll keep you in our prayers."
Jacob tipped his hat with a nod and moved past them. In a moment, he was lost in a swirl of train smoke and people moving to and from the train. Lang led Marilla to a bench that had become available, where they could wait. He felt he knew the answer, but he had to ask. "Are you sorry to see him go?"
"A little." She reached for his hand. "But not for the reasons you imagine. He's a friend and nothing more. He's always been a friend." As her fingers tightened around his hand, he believed she meant it, every word of it.
~~~~~
A killing frost arrived at the end of the month, harkening the fact that winter was around the corner. As always when the season changed, an urgency lay upon her. Having grown up a farmer's daughter, Marilla sensed the shortness of time to finish the outdoor work of plowing and final harvests, of making certain the animals' buildings were secure and safe against the brutal cold to come.
Lang and Roland were close to finishing the necessary work on the house, and her husband expressed his hopefulness that they would be able to move in before the first snowfall, if it didn't come too soon. Having Roland with them was proving to be both useful and fun. He enjoyed playing with his little niece and nephew, and his young manhood, so filled with energy and ideas, kept them both laughing and enjoying his company, while it also kept Marilla at task in the kitchen keeping him fed. He resembled a younger Lang so much that she often found herself pondering what direction Roland's life would take him, and she kept him in her prayers.
Today though, the sun had returned to melt the frost and bask the woods and fields in a russet glow, and they had all gone to the farm together. Lang was teaching Roland how to drive the tractor. He was out there now, tilling under the dead potato vines, and Lang walked alongside, picking rocks and guiding his brother in the operation of the equipment. Marilla left Dora and Bertie in the house with her mother while she went to the barn to pitch afternoon hay to the cows lowing in their stalls with the impatience of children. She climbed into the loft, taking in the soft scents of dried clover and timothy, a smell that always calmed her senses and reminded her of summers past. Reaching for the pitchfork leaning against a stout, round support post, she tossed a dozen large forkfuls through the loft hatch to the concrete slab below. Then she stuck the fork into the thick hay against the post once again.
She looked across the haymow. The sun set ear
lier now, and even though it was only mid-afternoon, its rays stretched long from the west, striking through the slats of barn board and the two, small, dusty windows at the top of the barn, casting a spotlight on the dancing fairy motes. They drew her, and she scrambled over the pad of loose hay and climbed high up the mound just the way she and Delia used to do as girls in order to slide and tumble down again. Reaching one of the dusty windows above, Marilla moved with deep, careful steps through the spinning dust motes and peered out over the rolling fields and pasture. Dirt streaked the cracked glass. Picking up a handful of hay, she rubbed it clear.
Her father's farm was the prettiest place she could imagine, or maybe it seemed that way because she had grown up there, loving every inch of it. She sighed and turned her head to view the field to the north, where the distant sounds of the tractor purred and putted across the field, churning up the black loam in furrows. And there he was. Lang.
He was small in the distance, but she knew him well enough to imagine the crease of his brow, the folds of his shirt clinging to his back as he hefted rocks clear of the plow's disks. She could close her eyes and still see the dark curls that fell over his forehead. She wanted to push his hair back and look into his brown eyes. Later on, she would. Tonight when they went home, and the children slept in their beds not far from their Uncle Roland's cot, she and Lang would close the door on everyone else.
Marilla smiled, and late summer warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the day's golden weather. She turned and slid down the mow, giggling like a girl of seventeen. Smiling like a girl in love with a boy. Loving like a woman in oneness with a man...
A man who only had eyes for her.
Echoes of the Heart continues with
Book Two: The Softest Breath
Modern girls seemed always in a hurry. Now one of them has slammed into Jacob Hessman on the street near St. Paul's Union Depot and boarded his train. He knows her type: flapper-chic in her bobbed hair and stylish dress, so different from the sweet, country-bred kind of girl who once filled his heart.