A Winter Heart, Sexy Amish Historical Novella

by Annette Blair

  Chapter Ten

  Were they really going to do this? As Caleb helped Hannah into the buggy the next morning, she marveled at the possibility of a union inspired by a lie—may they be forgiven. She supposed with a child to produce, they were actually committed to this, so no changing her mind now. Truth to tell, she did not want to change it. And where her stomach-skittering anticipation came from, she did not know.

  She settled falsely prim between Caleb and Susie and smoothed her skirts, thinking she should worry about a marriage begun in such a way. Maybe it was Caleb’s grin that kept her apprehension at bay. Or simply Caleb himself.

  Along the lane, Hannah dared clutch his arm. She liked his wink, the light in his big brown eyes. “A wedding, Caleb. Ida will think she worked a miracle last night.”

  “She will tell the world how she did it.”

  “I can teach Susie to bake and stitch, please? I so miss having a little girl of my own.” She took Susie onto her lap so the little one could sleep more comfortably in her arms.

  “Soon she will belong to both of us,” Caleb said. “You may claim her any time you want, especially when she screams.”

  When the three of them walked into Andy Byler’s barn for service that morning, everybody stopped talking, and soon enough Zeb Shotz, the new preacher, came in, the signal for everyone to sit.

  As was the custom, the men sat on one side, facing the women with babes in arms and children at their feet, on the opposite side of the big room. On the rough-hewn barn wall, men’s hats hung on nails in a crazy-quilt pattern.

  For the first time, Hannah did not feel her lack of children as a failure. Susie had come in with a hand in Caleb’s and one in hers, to everyone’s interest. Then the shy child looked from the men to the women and reached for her. That small gesture brought such a rush of joy.

  Hannah felt . . . prideful, for perhaps the first time in her life, but sin reaped its own harvest. Her father’s arrival put period to pride.

  He excused Preacher Shotz and stood before them. A confession he called for—from her and Caleb, of course—all bishop, no father.

  Everyone hushed.

  “Hannah Barkman,” he said, not Hannah Peachy, because that would be claiming her as his daughter. “Will you confess your sin before these your brothers and sisters?”

  Caleb shot to his feet to argue, but he caught her warning glance. His look said he was there for her, that he cherished her.

  Imagine being brought to her knees before the district and yet still feeling cherished, which she did not deserve. Utter foolishness, an impossible situation, and yet, she could do this. For Caleb and Susie. For herself, even.

  She knelt before her father, her stern bishop, hoping Susie would sleep throughout.

  Their high holy leader rocked on his heels, until shame rolled off her in waves. “Do you, Hannah Barkman, confess to sinning with the newcomer, Caleb Skylar, and to conceiving his child?” Had her father’s voice risen to become even louder?

  That newcomer—Caleb Skylar—had been with them three months already. Two when they were close as a family and one when they missed each other dreadfully. It wasn’t a lie, not really. In her mind, she had ached for them to make a baby together, and soon they would make it true in deed. She could say this for him, for Susie, to become Caleb’s wife and his daughter’s mother. “I do confess it,” she said, voice soft, a lie soon, please God, to be made true. Words to save Susie in the event something happened to Caleb, and yes, to save herself as well. And what did that make her?

  She glanced at Caleb and read his answer. Human, it made her. A forgivable sin, humanity. She only hoped her father, the bishop thought so. What matter? As long as her Maker did.

  While the crowd murmured in whispers, her father combed his beard with his fingers. Disgust she saw in his eyes, and something else. Speculation? Suppose, as her punishment, he did not make her marry Caleb?

  Now she prayed, and hard. For her punishment, she wanted a man she did not really know, except that she knew him to her marrow. Soul to soul, they knew each other. Even Anyah knew it, and perhaps she learned it from a higher power.

  But as ever doubt set it. Did she know him? Some men changed the minute you married them. She knew from experience.

  “For your punishment, you will go from among us and . . .

  His words hung in the air. Shunned? Was she shunned? No, oh no! She could not leave her community; but she could not stay if they shunned her.

  “Sin no more,” her cruel father said, finally finishing his sentence.

  Not shunned then?

  “And . . .” her father intoned, so loud the birds in the rafters took to noisy flight. This bishop with no compassion for his daughter let the threat sit so long, spots danced before her eyes.

  “No marriage celebration. No corner table for you,” he said.

  No marriage, then? She could not have Caleb and Susie? The worst punishment. A sob rose in her, stuck in her throat. Her eyes filled.

  Torture this bishop doled out, as torture she expected, though this was the worst. “Your sin will not be spoken of again,” the bishop said. “Go back to your seat.”

  Not shunned but not married? Was her punishment not to marry Caleb? To bear her child—hah, what child?—in shame?

  She rose and went back to her bench, numb, aching for the man and child she cared so deeply for. When she looked up, she saw understanding on some faces, condemnation in others.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Caleb Skylar, kneel before me.”

  Hannah put her sorrow aside to pray that Caleb would also escape the shunning.

  He obeyed but humility did not suit him. His tight fists and stiff shoulders came hard, she could tell. But he echoed her.

  “Are you sorry for this sin?” her father asked him.

  “Not sorry for loving Hannah,” Caleb said.

  Ach, another lie, Hannah thought.

  “Not sorry to have another babe,” Caleb added. “Sorry if I displeased the Lord.”

  “You did. Your punishment, Caleb Skylar, will bring His forgiveness. Stand please. Hannah Barkman, you will stand beside him. Abe and Ida Hershberger, you will stand witness.”

  Hannah’s head came up, the blood drained from her face. A wedding? Was she to be rewarded for her lie then? Her temporary lie, she hoped, as she obeyed. She breathed deeply when she stood beside Caleb, let her heart slow to steady. Then she nearly smiled when Anyah appeared beside her, the witness she would have chosen, taking Ida’s place, though Ida seemed confused as to how she stumbled backward.

  She’d received a gift for punishment—little did her bishop know. She did not need pretty glass dishes and a day of singing. She did not need to sit at the Eck, the corner table, where all brides and bridegrooms sat on the day. No wedding celebration, he had said. She looked at Caleb, then back at Susie, waking in time to see them wed.

  Who needed a celebration, when there was a family to be had?

  She wanted only Caleb and Susie and their life on Dovecrest Farm. Their life would replace anything that happened there previously. After the economy of truth in her confession, she wanted more than ever for the jonquils of forgiveness to bloom next spring.

  Once the bishop pronounced them man and wife, Caleb wanted out.

  He went to collect Susie, still sleeping on the bench in the women’s section. Then he took his bride’s arm, and they left service early.

  Hannah liked to feed the gossips, Caleb remembered, and he found he enjoyed it as well.

  He wanted to tell Hannah to raise her head as they left, but all he had to do was look at her, and she did raise it, her eyes sparkling.

  Her father followed them. Caleb did not speak to the high holy man until he put Hannah and Susie in the buggy and hitched the horses.

  Then he let the bishop draw him aside.

  “I am a zebra and cannot change my stripes,” the bishop said. “It is either black or white for me . . . most days, but I know my girl. You will make truth o
f that lie you two just told, or I will know the reason why.”

  Ach, and this father-in-law of his was human, too. Caleb did not dare smile. Besides, he heard talk that Enos was trying to make the bishop pay Gideon’s debts or he would refuse to marry Hannah. So his father-in-law was not only stern but cheap.

  Caleb did not care; he got Hannah, though she might have preferred her freedom to marrying him. No, that was impossible; her father would never let her have her freedom. He, Caleb, was the lesser of evils. Good enough.

  “Daughter,” the bishop said with a nod as Caleb drove the buggy from the yard.

  “Father,” she replied with the same lack of affection, and Caleb wanted to whoop he was so proud of her.

  They rode in silence for some time, her staring ahead, chewing her lip with nervous energy. She finally turned his way. “How do you feel about wedding nights?” she asked.

  Caleb bit his own lip to tamp down his enthusiasm. “You may as well ask how I feel about breathing, Hannah. I was drawn to you from the first. I am for wedding nights, and every night, come to that, if you get my meaning?”

  Hannah’s face grew pink. She got it.

  “About the wedding night . . . “

  “Yes?” he asked. Here it came. She would now tell him that their marriage would be in name only. Caleb closed his eyes to await the horrific verdict.

  “I hate the lie, so I would like—” She cleared her throat. “I would like for the lie not to be.”

  “Behold your confused bridegroom.”

  His bride huffed. “I want to make it true, what we told my Datt, what we confessed. I have to get with child and fast, starting tonight.”

  He stopped the buggy, carried Susie to the back, and covered her warm with blankets. Then he climbed to the seat and looked into his bride’s eyes. “Starting now,” he promised, then he opened his mouth over hers, showing his willingness, his hunger for her, and she did not stiffen or pull away.

  His Hannah—yes, his now, and after tonight, his in every way possible—sat closer, her body moving in rhythm with his kiss. Mutual hunger, happy need, a mating of minds and bodies. Caleb pulled away first, caught his breath. “I am not sure I can wait for tonight.”

  “Yah, I can tell, but a man’s body is not under his control, is it? How do you feel in your mind? In your heart? Willing? Or grumbly-unwilling?”

  “I feel, Hannah mine, as if I have just been given the greatest gift of all.”

  “But love is the greatest— what are you saying? I do not understand your jest, Caleb.”

  “Well, let me be clear. Loving you will be a burden—”

  The color left her face.

  “No, no! Another jest, liebchen. I thought you would know by my kisses.” He slipped his hands up her body, cupped her breasts, and tested their weight. “I am very willing. Eager. As a matter of fact, we should wake Susie and keep her very busy today, get her so tired she cries for sleep. Yes?”

  Hannah’s eyes brightened. “You do not seem as though you would turn from me,” she said, almost to herself. “It will not be a burden for you to get me with child?”

  “A burden? You are quoting Gideon again. I, your husband, want you something wonderful, and I will want you always. With or without the task of begetting. While you are big with our children, I will want you. I fear, in time, that you will run from me, Hannah Skylar.”

  “I could not run because I will want you to catch me, Caleb Skylar.”

  And Caleb’s worry that he could not make this woman happy, that he would make the same mistake he made with Naomi, became lost in the silk of Hannah’s eager lips against his.

  Chapter Eleven

  Caleb tweaked Hannah’s rosy cheeks after what she admitted. “Pink cheeks mean a big temper or an embarrassed bride,” he said.

  “Pink cheeks mean a nip in the air.”

  “Nip, nip. Nip, nip, nip,” Susie said, from behind them, making a pinch-bug with her thumb and forefinger, nipping at Hannah’s cheeks, then Caleb’s.

  Hannah nipped Susie back, making her grin, then his bride made to nip at him, but he anticipated her and caught her fingers in his teeth.

  Hannah shrieked and tried to pull back, but Caleb acted like a pup that would not relinquish his bone.

  Susie began to laugh, a rolling sound from somewhere deep in her belly, a sound of pure joy that Caleb had not heard from her for a long, long time.

  He placed his hand on either side of Susie’s face and kissed her nose. “Ich liebe dich,” he said. “I love you.” Then he did the same with Hannah, kissing her nose and looking deep into her eyes, sensing that she was not ready to hear that he loved her, too. “You both make me very happy,” he said then he started the buggy again.

  He peeked at his bride. “You do not believe you are lovable, do you? Every time I compliment you, you color up, as if you could not possibly believe me, or you are sorry I am such a liar.”

  Hannah shrugged.

  At Dovecrest Farm, he carried Hannah inside to Susie’s delight. When he set her down, he said, “I like you, Hannah Skylar.” Then he took her into his arms and kissed her. “You are good and kind and loving.” He kissed her again. “I . . . more than . . . like you, but I am afraid just now to say so.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “What? You do not like my kisses?” he asked.

  She tilted her head, considering. “I . . . more than . . . like them.”

  Caleb ran an impatient hand through his hair. “How do we make Susie tired enough to sleep deeply tonight?” he whispered.

  Hannah’s eyes brightened with a new twinkle. “I will teach her first to bake cookies, change the beds, clean the kitchen. Then she can help make our wedding supper, all the trimmings, like Christmas. She will learn to help clean up after, too.”

  She took his shoulders, which Caleb liked, and turned him toward the door. “Go. Work our farm. Your presence is requested at five-thirty, not before.” She laughed without reason.

  Caleb turned back to her. “What is so funny?”

  “I made a good Amish deal. I sold you this farm for two hundred dollars and now I have it back. Shrewd, I am.”

  For that, he kissed her again and left the house wondering if night would ever come.

  Hannah worked beside Susie and worried. She feared that just punishment for lying about bearing a child would be if she could never bear a child again.

  Other than the occasional bit of worry, she enjoyed working and laughing while giving Susie lessons on housekeeping and cooking, and looking out the window to catch sight of Caleb working their farm. It seemed so real, as if she deserved it.

  During dinner, she could barely look at Caleb without a shiver of expectation. When their fingers touched, even to pass a dish, pinpricks ran from that touch to all parts of her body. Her breasts became achy and tender, her woman’s center ready like never before in her life.

  Embarrassed, she was, and aching for her husband.

  Caleb would be appalled if he knew.

  Chapter Twelve

  Welcome to my wedding night, Caleb thought.

  Hannah lay in their bed, her arms at her sides, stiff as butchered beef. But her nightgown told a different story. It revealed swollen, ready breasts, budding nipples aching for his touch.

  God, let her want him as much as he wanted her.

  Seeing her concern—the way she bit at that lip—he crawled beneath the quilt in his nightshirt and placed his arms around her. He would gentle her like a skittish colt and pray he could last.

  Already, he could not seem to get enough air. Or enough Hannah.

  The flare of her hips beckoned, so he tested them with the palms of his hands. As he did, the air in the room thinned, and he became less patient, more ready. “Hannah,” he whispered, a plea for her to join the exploration.

  She rubbed her face against his, her parted lips at his ear, breathing warmth there and everywhere. She combed her fingers through his beard and, God help him, he found even that arousing.
<
br />   “Having you whisker my skin feels nice, Caleb.”

  “Susie hates getting whiskered.”

  “A woman will change her mind with a man as gentle and kind as you.”

  “Love, it is called, Hannah.”

  She hid her face against him, her body trembling, her tears soon forming a trail down his neck, branding him.

  He waited patiently, his body cooling, praise be, and eventually Hannah looked up at him. He kissed her tears and wiped them away with his fingertips.

  She sighed. “We tried . . . sometimes . . . for children,” she confided, “but he never looked at me or held me. I have never been kissed, but for you. Too flighty, not a proper Amish wife.”

  “Then he never made love to you? Because making love, the way we will do, is very different from trying to beget a child in stilted anger. You have a treat in store, if I do say, and I am humbled, no proud, blast it, to be your first lover. You have had a husband, borne a child, but you have never made love. Not until tonight with me.”

  Caleb stood and offered his hand. “Come to the bed in the daudyhaus; tomorrow we will switch them. I want no past memories in our bed, just us, Hannah. I say goodbye to Naomi at this moment. Say your goodbyes.”

  “I did that a long time ago, Caleb.”

  “To the man, maybe, but not the scars. Them, you will send to perdition. You are my wife. Grab the quilt, though, because I want to do the things I dreamed of doing to you beneath it.”

  “This is a new quilt,” she said taking it. “I washed the one I used with Gideon and gave it to the needy.”

  “This is not your original wedding quilt?”

  “Susie sleeps beneath that. My first marriage bed never deserved a quilt so beautiful.”

  Caleb lifted her in his arms, carried her to the addition used for aging in-laws, and laid her on the bed. He donned the quilt like a cape and lowered himself above her, pulling the quilt over them both.

  “You are mine, Hannah, and flighty is my favorite way for us to be.”