Jeb's Wife

by Patricia Johns

  “With sugar, the way you like it,” she said.

  Jeb took a sip. “To be completely honest, I actually prefer it black.”

  Leah frowned. “But for days now I’ve been giving it to you with sugar. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

  “I guess I’m just grateful for tea.” He smiled faintly. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll grow on me.”

  Leah sank onto the couch next to him. “I didn’t realize that. You don’t have to get used to it. Next time I’ll leave out the sugar.”

  Jeb took another sip and put the mug on the table next to him. “But this is the way you like your tea, isn’t it? With sugar?”

  She nodded. “Yah.”

  Leah was giving him the tea the way she liked it, and she was trying to give him support the way she would like it, too. But it was hard to tell if her attempts meant the same thing to him. In so many ways, this man was still a stranger to her.

  “My wife’s tea preferences—a good thing for a husband to know, I suppose,” Jeb said.

  She smiled at that. “I suppose.”

  “How’s Simon?”

  Her mind went back to earlier that evening. She’d stopped by the cottage, and he’d told her to go home to her husband. It had been harsh, and she’d felt small and stupid walking away again.

  “He’s not talking to me,” she said.

  “Hmm.”

  “Why would he go back to the gambling?” she asked quietly. “I don’t get it.”

  “Addiction, most likely,” Jeb replied. “I’ve seen it before with some other Amish men. There’s a thrill in winning. They say it feels like God’s favor. And they keep going back for more.”

  “It isn’t His favor,” she said. “It’s an Englisher trap.”

  “Definitely,” he agreed. “But they don’t see it. They feel it. Those are two different things.”

  “Will he hate me forever?” Leah wasn’t really asking Jeb, because how could he know? She was thinking aloud. Her brother—her sweet, dear little brother with those big, mischievous eyes—had always been able to hold a grudge. It was why she’d stopped spanking him by the age of nine. She’d said he was too old for a smack on his bottom, and maybe he was. But it was the resentful look in his eye that had stopped her. She wanted to guide him to better choices, not drive him away.

  “It’s possible to be the bad guy in someone’s eyes,” Jeb said quietly. “And you can’t even argue it. You see how they see you. You know why they resent you. But you can still know that you’re a good person.”

  “There’s right and wrong,” she murmured.

  “Right for who?” Jeb asked.

  “We were not wrong in pulling him out of that game!” she retorted. “He’ll get himself killed if he keeps going!”

  “Yah, yah . . .” Jeb sighed. “I’m not arguing that, I’m—” He looked over at her, chewed on the side of his cheek. “I went to see Menno.”

  Leah froze. Even the mention of his cousin’s name made her feel nervous. Was Jeb going to give up the farm after all? Would he let his vindictive cousin pressure him out of it?

  “Is it better between you now?” she asked. She didn’t expect it to be, but there was still a little wriggle of hope inside her. Maybe God would work a miracle. Maybe Menno would feel a flood of familial affection. It wasn’t that she wanted an inheritance that didn’t belong to them, but marrying Jeb had come with a few expectations for comfort. A house of their own. A kitchen that belonged to her . . .

  And yet she felt the isolating selfishness of those thoughts, too. Because what was a farm, a house, a kitchen, without a family and a community?

  Jeb shook his head. “No, it’s no better. Menno hates me. And I understand why.”

  “He’s wrong,” Leah replied earnestly. “I know this is a complicated situation, but he has no right to be passing around these rumors and trying to sway the community’s opinion of you for the sake of some land. Your uncle made the will clear. Menno didn’t want to farm. And if he’d cared about his father more in life—”

  “He’s not all wrong,” Jeb replied, cutting her off. “Will I give up the farm for him? Even if I wrote over half the land, he’d sell it. Giving up half is like giving up all. I can’t run half a farm, and at least I want to farm.”

  “Are you feeling guilty?” she asked softly.

  “A little. He asked me to give him the money in the bank account. He knew about it. He didn’t know how much was there. He thought it was thirty thousand. Still, he said he wanted to grow his business—get his own carpentry shop away from his brother-in-law. And that money would help him do it. He asked if he could just have that, for now. I have a feeling if I had, he might have left me alone with the rest. . . .”

  Leah’s stomach dropped. “But you used it for Simon.”

  “Yah.”

  She saw how it was now. The little bit that would have smoothed things over between the cousins had already been syphoned off. Because of her. Because of Simon.

  “There will always be someone who sees you as the bad one,” Jeb said. “Like you and Simon. Have you done something wrong? Of course not, but your brother still resents you. You have to know where you stand, have a clear conscience, and let the rest fall where they may.”

  “It helps to have the community’s support,” she said. “Their reassurance that you’ve done all you could.”

  “If you can get it.” He met her gaze, then shrugged. “When you meet your Maker, you won’t have the community by your side. It will be just you facing God.”

  “Like you now?” she asked.

  He laughed softly at that. “I might be alone, but I’m not facing judgment yet.”

  “True . . .” She smiled at that. “Is that where you get your strength—knowing you did right, even if no one else seems to know it?”

  “Part of it,” he agreed. “I have a clear conscience, but I also have God. I’m not quite so alone as I look.”

  Maybe God made up the difference for him, filled in the spaces for all he’d lost. And looking at him sitting there with his Bible on his knee, he didn’t look alone. He looked like any other Amish man—strong, satisfied, thoughtful.

  “I’m not sure I’m strong enough to do what you do, Jeb,” she admitted quietly. “I can’t face life alone.”

  “I don’t think anyone really chooses this . . .” he said.

  “Isn’t it a choice now?” she asked.

  “Not anymore.” His voice was low, and she wondered what he meant by that.

  “Maybe Menno does think badly of you,” Leah said after a moment. “But I don’t. I think you’re kind. And I’m so deeply grateful for what you’ve done for Simon. I know he’s not seeming worth all this trouble ... not to you at least. And I understand that. But he’s worth it to me. And when I see you, I see—” She swallowed. “A good man.”

  Jeb closed his Bible and put it on the table next to the lamp. “Yah?”

  Leah nodded. “Yah. So, if one opinion could hurt you, maybe another one can make up for it. A little bit at least.”

  Jeb reached over and touched her cheek with the back of one finger. He met her gaze with a slightly flirtatious smile. “It helps. Are you ready for bed yet?”

  The question would be an ordinary one between any other married couple, but it gave Leah pause. Was he suggesting something more tonight? Her heart sped up, and he didn’t break eye contact. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response.

  “I was going to bring in some wood,” she said. “I’ll need it for breakfast in the morning.”

  She was evading—purposefully.

  “I’ll do that.” He rose to his feet. “That’s a man’s job.”

  Jeb cast her one more smile that she couldn’t quite decipher, then rubbed his hand down the side of his leg. He limped toward the kitchen, and she heard his uneven footsteps head for the side door.

  If she could convince the rest of the community of what she saw in Jeb, maybe she could bring them all back together again. He dese
rved a community, an extended family, and the hope that came with a group of people who cared. He shouldn’t have to keep going on alone like this.

  Maybe he just needed help coming back again.

  * * *

  Jeb loaded up the last pile of wood in his arms, the rough edges scraping against his arms. The sun had set and the stars pricked through the semidarkness. The sky was still velvet gray by the horizon, and he paused to look in that direction.

  He’d come out to get the wood for two reasons, the first of which was that his wife wasn’t going to have to carry wood as long as he was in the house with her. The second was that those dark brown eyes fixed on him with such honesty shining in their depths were making him feel things he wasn’t comfortable feeling.

  Leah was his wife, and she was on his side. That was a good thing—the way things should be. But it also made a strange well of tenderness rise up inside him. It was like all the gentle, warm, protective feelings that had lain dormant the last fifteen years were suddenly drawn to Leah.

  And that wasn’t safe either. This was loneliness making him feel these things—nothing more. So, he’d come outside to get his head on straight. The only other option had been to pull her into his arms and kiss her. And right now, he wasn’t sure it would stop at that.

  You’re lonely, he reminded himself. That’s all this is. Don’t mess up a good thing.

  He headed around the side of the house to the door and let himself back in. The wood pile for the kitchen was just outside the mudroom for easy filling, and he let the wood roll down into the box, then brushed off his hands.

  Leah stood by the kitchen table, the sugar bowl in her hands. She looked at him silently.

  “Done,” he said, breaking the silence. He looked down at the scrape on his arm. It was a bit worse than he’d thought. Small beads of blood broke through the scraped skin.

  “Thank you, Jeb.”

  Those eyes ... What was it about her clear gaze that drew him in like that?

  “Did—” Jeb cleared his throat. “Did you mean that? What you said about me being a good man?”

  “Yah. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

  He smiled at that. There weren’t many people out there like her—utterly honest. Or perhaps there were, but they didn’t tend to be on his side.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” she asked, and she stepped closer to inspect his forearm. Her light touch moved down his arm, making his skin tingle. He should pull away ... because she was innocently enough inspecting a scrape, and she had no idea what this was doing to him.

  “It’s not bad,” he said, but he didn’t pull his arm back.

  “Hold on—”

  Leah pulled away first and headed across the kitchen. He exhaled a slow breath. The kitchen smelled like her. This house had changed since her arrival—the very scent of the air had grown sweeter somehow. But he also knew what it was like to want something so badly and have a wife who didn’t. It didn’t matter how she made him feel if it wasn’t mutual.

  She pulled out a cloth napkin from a drawer, soaked it under the tap, and wrung it out. Then she came back to where he stood and pressed the cold cloth against his skin. She cradled his arm, one hand underneath it and the other on top. Her touch was cool and gentle. She lifted the cloth, peeked underneath, then pressed it down again.

  She’d feel his goose bumps, he realized belatedly. She stood so close to him that he could feel the warmth of her body emanating against him, and he could smell the soft scent of her shampoo. He stretched out his hand, the backs of his fingers brushing against her apron. She froze, but she didn’t move away. He stretched his fingers out again and let them linger there against her soft stomach.

  “You don’t need to do this . . .” he breathed.

  “Maybe I want to,” she murmured back. Still, she didn’t move away from his touch, and he felt all his focus moving down to the spot where he touched her. He wanted more than that—to run his hands around her waist, to pull her against him. . . . Lately, at night, he’d been dreaming of her skin against his. If she weren’t his wife, he might feel guilty for those dreams—those fragments of hope in his mind.

  “Leah . . .” he whispered.

  And this time she looked up, her lips slightly parted, her gaze meeting his. But there was no question in her eyes. He pulled the cloth from his arm and tossed it onto the table, then brushed a tendril of hair that had escaped her kapp from her forehead. Her skin was so soft against his fingertips, and he looked down to her lips. He slid his hand over her cheek, tugging her closer. She settled against him, and he could feel the patter of her heartbeat against his chest. It was like her entire body trembled with the force of it.

  He’d regret this—he always did—but he couldn’t quite keep himself from dipping his head down and catching her lips with his. She crumpled his shirt into her fingers as he kissed her. His mouth moved over hers as he nudged her closer and closer to parting those lips again so he could deepen the kiss. She didn’t seem to quite understand what he was pushing for, and that made him feel just a little more tender toward her.

  She’d pulled away by this point last time, but she wasn’t pulling back this time. Jeb slid his hand down her side, feeling the gentle give of her figure under his touch. Then his hand finally settled on the small of her back.

  He broke off the kiss, his breath ragged. Leah’s eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him blearily. He hadn’t ever left a woman looking quite this mussed before. Her lips were plumped from his kiss, and somehow in the course of kissing her, he’d loosened more of her hair around her face. He’d been married before, but a moment just like this ... it was a first for him, too. He let his fingers trail down her cheeks, down her neck, and stop at the barrier of her dress along her collarbone.

  “Is this okay?” he murmured.

  “Yah . . .” A smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

  “Can I . . . kiss you again?” His gaze dropped down to her mouth once more, and his heart hammered in his head. All he wanted was to taste those lips. She didn’t answer, but she reached up and caught his shirt in a handful at his chest and tugged on it.

  He’d take that as a yes. He wrapped his arms around her, and this time he lifted her up toward his lips, covering them as a wave of desire crashed over him. She fit into his arms perfectly, and with his emotions coursing through his veins like this, the tug of his sore arm and leg were like a dull rhythm in the background of his mind. He could deal with that—all he wanted was to hold her closer.

  He pulled back, tugged her kapp free—it was only hanging by one pin now anyway—and tossed it toward the table, not even seeing where it fell. He loosened the last of her hair, letting it cascade down around her shoulders, and he pushed his fingers into the warm, fragrant depths of it.

  Leah lifted her lips toward his, and he let out a moan as he kissed her again. She didn’t know how she was firing him up—he could almost guarantee that. But then he felt her push up against him, and the last of his logical thoughts crashed down around him. He wanted her—all of her. He longed to get closer to her ... to feel her soft skin against his fingers ...

  It would make things so much easier if they could just do what other married couples did and move upstairs to the smooth expanse of a bed.

  “Leah—” He pulled back, his voice husky and low. “We are married, you know.”

  She nodded. “Yah.”

  “We could—” He swallowed, licked his lips. “We could just go on upstairs—it might make this easier.”

  This—he wasn’t willing to say it out loud. He knew what he was asking for, and she did, too. Was this foolhardy? He wouldn’t blame her if she said no, but there was something glittering in her eyes. She nodded.

  “Okay . . .” she breathed.

  Was that a yes? He looked down at her, and color infused her cheeks. He wanted this—more than anything else, he wanted to carry her up those stairs and make love to her for hours in the quiet privacy of his bedroom. He wanted to
hold her the way he’d dreamed of holding her ...

  But it would change things for him. It would open parts of his heart that he’d been trying to hold shut. It would make him want things he hadn’t been asking for yet—intimacy, growing closer, opening up . . . a shared bedroom.

  He wanted to just scoop her up in his arms and carry her up those stairs without giving it another thought, but he knew himself too well.

  “I have to ask just one thing first,” he said softly.

  She looked up at him, mute.

  “Are you happy like this?” he asked quietly. “With me. Alone on this farm. Just us—” He swallowed. “Are you happy like this?”

  Leah pulled away from him ever so slightly, and he loosened his hold on her.

  “I—” She frowned slightly. “I’m still hoping that you’ll join our community again, and I can help you to—” She stopped speaking when she saw his face.

  “So you aren’t,” he clarified.

  “Jeb, I can’t just live alone without people in my life,” she said pleadingly. “I know it’s hard for you, but I need more than this. That doesn’t mean I’m not pleased with you, but—”

  And those were the words he needed to hear to get his logical mind back in control of himself again. He dropped his hands, and a nearly crushing wave of disappointment flowed over him.

  “No, I get it. I just had to ask.”

  “There is more to life than a husband, Jeb,” she said. “And more than a wife. I’m not enough for you either. I know it. You’ll find out.”

  And maybe she was right about that. And maybe she was wrong. He’d been on his own for so long with only his uncle as company that he was used to the dull loneliness that sometimes came over him. But she wasn’t.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go upstairs,” he said quietly. “It’s a big step, you know—” He tried to hide the rising sadness in his voice. “I think it’s best if we wait.”

  Leah nodded, red flaming across her cheeks. He’d embarrassed her—led her on and then pulled back. And that hadn’t been his intention.

  “Leah, my last wife slept with me from time to time—but she wasn’t happy,” he tried to explain. “Women might think that the act is enough, but it isn’t. It gutted me—that combination of physical expression and deep resentment. Yah, I’ve got desires and needs, but there is no rush for this step between us. We can take our time.”