Jeb's Wife

by Patricia Johns

  Leah’s gaze flickered toward the door, then she shook her head. “No. Let’s just turn our backs. We can change, and not turn around until we’re both in our nightclothes. I know my brother’s enjoyment of a funny story, and I’d rather not give him anything to work with tonight.”

  Leah had been thinking this through, he realized. She had a plan already, and maybe he was grateful for that. She was obviously as nervous as he was, and he caught the cautious look she cast in his direction. He wasn’t exactly easy to look at ... and maybe he’d forgotten that today.

  “Okay,” he said. He pulled his pajamas from his bag. “I’ll face this way, and you face the other wall. We’ll both say when we’re finished, but there is no turning until we’re both done.”

  Leah went to her closet and pulled out a nightgown, then she crossed to her side of the room. Jeb glanced over his shoulder at her, and she looked back.

  “No peeking,” she said solemnly.

  Jeb chuckled and turned forward again. “No peeking.”

  He pulled off his shirt, and he felt the exposure of his scars on display, even if she wasn’t looking. He fumbled with the pajama shirt, relieved to pull it on. He was about to do the same with his pants when he glanced up and, from the full-length mirror, he realized in a rush that the angle of the mirror gave him a view he shouldn’t have—

  He couldn’t see all of her—just her bare back, shining white in the low light of the bedroom. She had a few beauty marks scattered over her skin, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She reached for something and disappeared from the mirror, then came back into view as the nightgown slipped over her shoulder and tumbled down around her. He felt his cheeks heat.

  He shouldn’t have seen that.

  “I’m finished,” she said softly.

  “I’m not.” He cleared his throat and hurriedly pulled his pants off, then got his pajama bottoms on. He shook out his pants so he could hang them. “I am now.”

  “Then we turn?” she asked.

  “Yah.”

  She was no longer the properly dressed Amish woman. Her kapp was gone, her auburn hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Her nightgown was white, and it covered her from collarbone down to her ankles—not an inch exposed. But the glimpse he’d had of her bare back was seared into his mind.

  Leah reached for a comb and hurriedly began to try to arrange her hair again.

  “You don’t have to rush,” he said.

  “My hair—” she started.

  “Is for your husband,” he said. “And that’s me. It’s okay. You can comb your hair properly and take care of it.”

  Leah’s movements slowed, and he watched her as she pulled the comb through her long hair that reflected glossy and luxurious in the low light, then separated it out into sections and deftly braided it. Jeb pulled the covers back on the bed to expose fresh, white sheets, and he grabbed a couple of pillows, dropping them down the middle in a makeshift wall.

  So much like bundling. Some communities used this for setting a couple up—putting them together for a night with blankets and pillows between them ... Not their community, though.

  Leah approached the other side of the bed, looking down at it with an unreadable expression.

  “I can go to the chair if you want,” he repeated.

  She shook her head. “No. It’s okay. Can you get the lamp?”

  Jeb blew out the lamp, and as he did so, he heard the squeak of the springs as she crawled under the quilt. He came back to the bed and found her lying on her side, her back to him. He eased into the bed and let out a careful breath. He was half afraid of moving, and when he looked over at her, her braided hair was so close, he could smell the soft scent of her shampoo.

  She lay there, completely still, and he let his gaze move over the soft mound of blankets next to him.

  His wife. This beautiful woman who smelled so good belonged to him. The thought was both terrifying and amazing, all at the same time.

  “Jeb?” she said softly.

  “Yah?”

  “Why wasn’t your mother at our wedding?” she asked. “You said you sent money to her . . . Has she passed away?”

  “No, she’s still alive,” he said quietly.

  “Why didn’t she come?”

  “I didn’t invite her.” It was complicated—an explanation for another time, perhaps, when he knew his own wife a little bit better. His mother hadn’t attended his first wedding either.

  “Good night,” he whispered.

  She didn’t move, but her voice came to him softly. “Good night, Jeb.”

  And he lay in the ever-darkening room, listening to the sound of their careful breathing.

  Chapter Six

  Leah slept lightly, and twice she awoke to the sound of the springs squeaking next to her as Jeb rolled over. It felt strange, and even a little wrong, to have a man in her bed next to her, but there was nothing wrong with a husband and wife sharing a bed, and while this still felt strange, Jeb was very much her husband. Each time Leah managed to drift to sleep once more, but the third time she woke, she didn’t know what had disturbed her. All was quiet and still, but she was wide awake nonetheless.

  She lay on her back, very close to the edge of the bed, and Jeb was on top of the pillows that separated them, his arm pressed against hers. Leah rolled onto her side and looked at him in the moonlight that shone through the crack in the curtain.

  They said that God worked in mysterious ways, and it seemed that He did. Because she’d prayed for years for a husband to call her own, and here he was. It was easier to look at him while he slept. She didn’t have to worry about meeting that drilling gaze of his. Jeb was a large man, broad through the chest and muscular. His hair had some gray, and from where she lay, she could see the scars moving from his hairline down the side of his bearded face and down his neck, disappearing into his pajama shirt.

  She hadn’t had an up-close look at these scars yet, and she stared at them, mesmerized. They were ugly, to be sure, but ever since she’d touched his arm the day he’d asked her to marry him, her curiosity about that extent of his injury had been piqued.

  Jeb had said the scars didn’t hurt, but she could see him shifting painfully during the wedding ceremony. The way his scarred skin pulled taut when he stretched out his arm or turned his head—it couldn’t be comfortable. But he didn’t speak of it. He didn’t complain.

  And yet, the very size of him made her nervous. He was taller than other men in their community, and while those broad shoulders tapered down to a neat waist, she was struck by the size of his hand that lay limp on top of the quilt. He was nothing like Matthew. Matthew had been an inch taller than her. He was slim, not well-muscled like Jeb was, and Matthew had soulful eyes. She’d never felt at his mercy. Instead, she’d felt like she could drown in the emotions that he stirred up inside her.

  Jeb was different. He was older, hardened, more experienced. There was nothing soulful about him that she could see—only scars and caution. She tried to imagine using Rosmanda’s advice about her wedding night with this man, and the thought made her shiver. There might be wifely duties expected of a woman, but she couldn’t do it.

  Jeb shifted slightly, his arm pushing against hers. Jeb, even simply lying on his back, was using up most of the space. His finger moved along her arm, and as his touch moved in a gentle arc over her wrist, her heart hammered hard in her chest. He was asleep—this wasn’t conscious—but his touch was insistent, and it held a request. She held her breath.

  Jeb’s snoring suddenly stopped, and then for a beat neither of them moved. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from her, and he rolled over onto his side, his back to her.

  “Sorry,” he said gruffly.

  Leah didn’t answer, but she turned onto her side, too, her back to him. She lay there as quietly as possible, listening to the sound of Jeb’s uneven breathing. He wasn’t sleeping—she could hear it. But somehow, listening to the silence between them, she fell back asleep until morning.
/>   * * *

  At four thirty, when Leah normally got up to start cooking, she blinked her eyes open feeling much more rested than she thought she would. She looked over her shoulder to see if Jeb was still there, but she found the other side of the bed empty, the quilt pulled neatly back into place.

  She got up and went to the dresser, where she lit the lamp. Outside, she heard the tramp of boots, and she pulled back the curtain to look outside. She heard the chicken coop door shut and the kerfuffle of awakened chickens.

  Leah rubbed her hands over her face and looked at herself in the mirror. She was barefoot, her sleeping braid hanging over one shoulder and her nightgown creased and wrinkled from sleep. She looked no different from any other morning, and yet she was different now. She was legally married—everything would be different.

  Leah made the rest of the bed and got dressed. She brushed her hair, then rolled it up into a neat bun at the back of her head, then pulled a freshly laundered kapp from her top drawer and secured it over her hair with two hairpins. This morning she would make breakfast in the same kitchen she’d made breakfast for herself and her brother for years, except this morning she’d be feeding not only her brother, but her husband.

  It felt strange—like a word game that hadn’t really touched her life just yet.

  Leah headed out into the cool kitchen and grabbed some wood from the pile next to the stove. She bent down in front of the big metal unit and arranged the wood inside, then added some paper and twigs as kindling. She struck a match and the first lick of flame moved through the paper and zipped toward the wood.

  She closed the stove once the fire had taken, and for the next hour she focused her energy on making a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, sausages, and scrambled eggs. It was Simon’s favorite breakfast, and somehow this meal felt like a goodbye to her brother in a very tangible way. She’d be moving out of this house, and if she did cook for him still, it would be from the house she shared with Jeb. An era was ending, and it left a lump in her throat.

  This was all for Simon. She could only hope he’d properly appreciate what she was doing.

  Outside the kitchen window, the sky was softly pink, some streaks of orange clinging to wispy clouds. From the window she could see a light glowing from inside the stable, and the door opened, Jeb’s big frame backlit in the doorway. She couldn’t tell if he could see her or not, but then he grabbed the lantern and came outside, the golden light combined with the first blush of dawn washing over his features making him look more rugged.

  Jeb’s limp was more noticeable this morning. He didn’t say anything as he came inside the house. He kicked off his boots and turned off the lantern.

  “Morning,” he said with a bashful smile.

  “How did you sleep?” she asked briskly, turning away from him and reaching for a pot. She wasn’t sure why she felt so exposed right now. But she did.

  “Not great,” he said. “I’m not used to sharing a bed anymore. I’m sorry if I sprawled.”

  “I don’t remember. I was sleeping.”

  She glanced toward him, and she caught that direct gaze locked on her again, his dark gaze pinning her to the spot.

  “No, you weren’t,” he said.

  She felt the heat hit her face. She’d felt the way he’d touched her. Even if he hadn’t been fully awake yet, that was the touch of a man who was thinking of more. Did they have to talk about it? “I just mean that it’s okay. You don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Then say that. Don’t try to protect my feelings,” he said. “I don’t like that.”

  Leah turned away again to get the sausages from the iron skillet and onto a plate. She’d already upset him and they’d barely said a word to each other.

  “It won’t be a problem in the future,” she said. “We’ll both have enough space.”

  “But I mean it in other things, too,” Jeb said. “I’m not a poetic man. I say what I think, and I like to have the same thing in return. Don’t try to soften things for me. It won’t help either of us.”

  Leah licked her lips. “Fine. You sprawled. Are you happy?”

  A glimmer of humor came to his eyes and he chuckled softly. “Yah. I am.”

  The side door opened again and Simon came inside, a metal bowl of eggs in one hand. Leah went to take them while he took off his boots, and she put them on the counter.

  “After breakfast, we’ll go do Jeb’s chores,” Simon said. “And then we’ll head into town to see that lawyer.”

  “All right,” Leah said.

  “As promised,” Jeb said, his voice low.

  “Thank you, Jeb,” she said. “And when you’re done for the day, I’ll have dinner ready.”

  “Here?” he asked.

  “At your house,” she replied. Their house, although she was afraid to use that language just yet. Maybe she wanted to hear him say it first.

  “You won’t need more time to . . . set up over there?” Jeb asked hesitantly.

  “I’ll sort it out, if you’ll give me a key,” she replied.

  Jeb reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring. “I had that made for you.”

  She accepted the key with a nod and looked down at it. It felt so off icial suddenly. She’d be moving her things over to Jeb’s house this very day, and cooking their first dinner together. Alone. She felt the breath squeeze from her chest.

  “Will you be eating with us, Simon?” Leah asked suddenly.

  “No,” Simon said. “You’re newlyweds. I’ll fend for myself, thank you very much. I’ve been doing just fine while you were off teaching.”

  Leah smiled weakly. Of course. People were going to give them space. She licked her lips, then nodded to the meal.

  “We should eat,” she said, “before it gets cold.”

  Then she sat down at the table. She’d always said the blessing over the meals she shared with her younger brother in the past, but today she looked over at Jeb. It was his role now.

  “Lord, we thank you for this food,” Jeb said, his voice a low rumble. “And for the hands that have prepared it.”

  She closed her fingers into fists in her lap.

  “Amen,” she murmured.

  * * *

  Jeb finished chores earlier than he’d anticipated. Having the extra help in Simon was more welcome than he’d anticipated, too. The last time he’d had someone to work with, it was Peter, and having an extra set of hands to get the work done made everything go faster. All the same, it felt strange to have Simon out there with him. Uncomfortable. Restricting.

  When the work was done, he and Simon went into town with the marriage certificate. The lawyer was available when they arrived, and he accepted the proof of marriage and then began the process of transferring funds in Jeb’s bank account.

  “It won’t be done today?” Simon asked.

  “These things take some time,” the lawyer replied. “But the wheels are in motion.”

  “How long will it take?” Jeb said.

  “You don’t have a phone, do you?” the lawyer asked.

  “No.”

  “Come back next week and check on the process,” the lawyer replied. “We should be closer to releasing the funds and transferring them at that point. Why—is there a rush?”

  “Yah. A bit,” Jeb admitted. “We owe a debt, and it would be nice to pay it back in time.”

  “I’ll put it on the top of my pile,” the lawyer said. “It’s the best I can do. And congratulations on your marriage.”

  “Yah. Thank you,” Jeb said, and they shook hands. “I’ll come back in a week.”

  “Oh!” the lawyer said. “Wait. There is one more thing for you.” He unlocked a drawer and pulled out a white envelope. “Upon the event of your marriage, your uncle left you this.”

  Jeb accepted the envelope and looked down at it. His name was written on the front. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s sealed. But it was to be given to you if you did manage to get married in the specified time.�
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  His uncle’s thoughts on the matter ... Congratulations on having moved his life forward, or a lecture about how the love of money was the root of all evil?

  “And if I hadn’t married?” Jeb asked.

  “There was a different letter,” the lawyer said with a nod. “But you won’t be receiving that one now. I have instructions to destroy it.”

  “Thank you,” Jeb said woodenly.

  As they headed out of the lawyer’s office and walked toward the buggy parking, Jeb felt the crinkling presence of that envelope in his pocket. He wouldn’t open it here. And certainly not in front of Simon. He glanced over at the younger man. Simon’s expression was grim, and he glanced around himself nervously as they walked.

  “Stick with me, then,” Jeb said.

  “What?”

  “If you’re scared, while we wait on the money, stick close to me. If you’re working my farm, I’ll be around, right?”

  His farm. That felt good to say.

  “Yah. I might do that.” Simon nodded, but the fear didn’t dissipate.

  “Do they know where you live?” Jeb asked.

  Simon shook his head. “I only ever saw them at a game. I wasn’t stupid enough to say where I lived.”

  “But they could ask around,” Jeb said.

  “They won’t need to if I pay them back,” Simon replied. “Will they?”

  Jeb didn’t know, but the burden of that debt was going to haunt the boy until it was paid, of that he had no doubt.

  Jeb led the way to the buggy, and while he tried to keep his own unease hidden, he did glance around to see if anyone was paying them any undue attention. But they got plenty of that on a daily basis—the Englishers loved nothing more than coming to the town of Abundance to buy Amish wares and stare at them in the streets. A whole family stood at the edge of the buggy parking lot taking pictures with their phones, and when they saw Jeb and Simon approaching, they turned their phones toward them.

  Jeb hated this—being treated like a zoo animal for the Englishers’ entertainment. He wasn’t a curiosity, he was a man deserving of a bit of privacy, and he hated knowing that he was being recorded while he went about his own business.