Jakob stopped.
Lydia took another step before turning toward him uncertainly. They were alone.
"Did you have time to think?" In the radiant moonlight he slid the fingers of both hands into his pants pockets and leaned back against the rail fence.
She'd thought of little else but his tall form in his white shirt, his sun-gilded hair and skin. She'd wondered a hundred times what would have happened had she walked out of her father's study beside him. She'd imagined what would life be like in his world... imagined life with him.
"I've had much time to try not to think." Her heart struggled against the confines of her breast until her extremities tingled and her head grew light.
"What'd you try not to think about?"
What life would be like here. Without you. "The rudiments of the world."
"Oh. One of your father's inspired messages."
Was that a mocking smile? She would never admit that her father had used that phrase this very evening. "You are ridiculing."
"Sorry."
She lowered her arms, relaxing her defensive posture. The breeze pressed her skirts flat and carried the orchard's aromatic smells to them. She had tried for weeks to banish this man from her thoughts, and now here he was, tall and self-assured, standing before her as though her yearning had conjured him from thin air. She hadn't erased even one tiny shred of him from her memory. She doubted she ever could.
Everything about him was familiar—but better, much better than the vague reverie she tried to stifle each sleepless night. The reality was lofty and strong and solid, carrying the unmistakable scent of leather and horse. His pale hair shimmered ethereal in the moonlight.
"What do you want?" She couldn't play games with him. She wasn't coy or self-assured.
"I want you to marry me." There was no hesitation, no question, no doubt, in his reply.
The night folded its sultry, star-studded silence around her. There was no sound but that of her thudding heart. One part of her wanted to throw her head back and laugh out loud with joy, while another part—the rigidly disciplined part—wished the heavens would reach down and swallow her up, send a chariot as they had for the prophet Elijah. "You still want to marry me?"
He pushed away from the fence. "Nothing has changed, Lydia. I still feel the same. I want you for my wife."
"But my father—"
"I only care what you think, what you want." He pulled his hands from his pockets and closed his fingers around her upper arms, his face inches from hers. It was impossible not to look at him, not to search his shadowed eyes and feel the strength emanating from him. "What do you want, Lydia?"
Everything. To be your wife. To have your children. To be here for my grandmother. His grasp was light. It was easy to pull away and step back. She seized the fence for support, mind racing and heart pounding. She'd thought she wanted her father's approval, and when she realized Jakob was unwilling to join the Society, her only choice had been to satisfy herself with life in the colony. When she spoke again, her whisper was unsteady. "I don't know."
But now... now he had made it clear that she did have another choice. One that would overturn the world as she knew it. She could defy her father's wishes, turn her back on the only people and home she'd ever known and give up her secure life to leave with this Outsider. This... man. Jakob.
His long hair had been trimmed since she last saw him, but still curled over his collar's edge, shining pale and silvery. She detected a sunburn on his smooth skin, his shiny, defined cheekbones. Even in the dark, she knew the color of his pure blue eyes. Only her youngest sister, Faith, and Grandmother had ever before stirred strong feelings within her. But these... these feelings consumed her, tugged her heart toward the unthinkable choice.
"I've never thought of what I want before. Only what is right, what God wants, what my father wants." Look with your heart, not your father's eyes. Her grandmother's words came back to her. Her eyes saw the man before her. Her heart once again experienced the thrust his nearness brought.
"I can wait a little longer." He stepped in front of her, trapping her against the fence. "But not too long."
She held her breath.
With the gentlest of touches, he laid his palm along the curve of her jaw, fingertips grazing her earlobe, and she knew he must feel her heart racing in that telltale pulse point. "Think about what Fraulein Beker wants to do with the rest of her life. I'll be back for your decision."
He moved slightly, and Lydia experienced the unnerving sensation of falling. Her body jerked as if she were suddenly awaking from a dream, and she gripped the fence behind her for balance, one hand pressed flat against her racing heart. Her Bible fell at Jakob's feet.
Slowly—ever so slowly—he skimmed his fingertips along her jawline, drawing them away. That touch, that gentlest of touches, branded her with its rightness. Told her she wanted—needed—more. He picked up her Bible, handed it to her, and left.
He was offering everything she longed for. The chance to see all the things and places she dreamed of. The opportunity to marry him, to live somewhere new and exciting, to bear his children.
Lydia's skin tingled where his callused fingers had stroked. Did she have the courage? Could she bear to leave her grandmother behind?
The night sky was filled with stars, big and bright and close enough to touch. Many nights she had admired them, feeling small and unimportant under the canopy of God's handiwork, and wondered about people in crowded cities and busy towns who saw the same auroral light. But tonight there were no other people in the world. Only her and the tall Outsider who wanted to marry her and was willing to wait for her decision.
Wait for her decision. Did she have the power to do it? Her entire life, she had been told what to do, what to think, what to wear. She had been given no choice in the food she ate, the tasks she performed, the books she read.
Now she faced the biggest decision of her life, and—Lord help her—she knew what she wanted.
Chapter 5
"Father. Have tea with us." Lydia pumped water into the teakettle and placed it on the stove. Grandmother sat at the table, her shawl wrapped snugly around her bowed shoulders, even though the evening was warm.
Etham hung his hat on a wall peg and settled himself at the table. "Lydia, I am concerned about your distraction from your daily work."
Rose pushed her cup aside, as if to rise, but at Lydia's beseeching look, she stayed.
"It is time you married. Some believers best serve God unmarried, devoted entirely to Him, but the rest must have a husband and children to devote themselves to."
Oddly enough, Lydia had reasoned the same thing. Deliberately she avoided her grandmother's eyes.
"Peter Schuler is a match for you. I spoke with him today. Or Lucas Durer. You work well together."
Speechless, Lydia glanced at the old woman, who was staring intently into her teacup. Rose's gaze lifted and met her granddaughter's, revealing a dark displeasure.
Work well together. Peter Schuler or Lucas Durer for a husband? Lucas's boyish blush came to mind. Then Peter's somber gray gaze. Yes, nice young men. Both suitable. Dependable. Faithful. Predictable. And chosen by her Vater. She tried to imagine Lucas touching her, wondered if moonlight on Peter Schuler's neat hair would set her heart to racing. Her father wanted her to say, "Yes, I will take that one," as if she were selecting an apple from a barrel.
Grandmother spoke up. "She must have time."
"Of course she may have time. Perhaps there is another Harmonist she prefers. In any case, her sin must be acquitted—immediately." He stood. "Vielen dank."
The two women stared at the wedding china, fine china cups and saucers decorated in a rich, flowing blue flower-and-scroll design, until he was well out of hearing distance.
"What are you thinking, Lydia?"
Lydia took Grandmother's mottled hand and massaged it lovingly. "I am confused when I think of Jakob."
"And when you are with him?"
Her
smile was spontaneous. "He... unsettles me, but it is comforting to look at him, to hear his voice. I want to hear it always. When I thought he would join the colony, I was beside myself. I asked God to take away the feelings, but He doesn't. Why are these feelings wrong?"
"They're not wrong, child. It's the way a woman should feel about the man she will marry."
"But marriage to an Outsider?"
Tears welled up in the old woman's eyes, and she gripped Lydia's hand with surprising strength. "I call you 'child,' but you are a grown woman, with hopes, wants and needs. Don't stifle them for an unsatisfactory life. You will always feel that part of you is missing."
"What are you saying?" Was Grandmother encouraging her to turn against her father's wishes, to defy everything she had been raised to believe in?
"Follow your heart. Weigh these new feelings. No matter which choice, you'll lose something. Measure the gain against the loss. Perhaps God hasn't removed those feelings because they are His will."
Sleep didn't come easily. Balancing the options always narrowed down to the same two choices; Jakob, or her family and her home. Exhaustive prayer and self-examination brought a plague of discordant dreams. Work was her only relief, giving her hands and mind purpose for another day. Not until the appointed evening, following worship service, did the scales tip toward her answer.
Jakob! She ran to where he waited, and without a thought to propriety or onlookers, threw her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his crisp collar. "Jakob," she whispered, as fervently as any prayer.
His body tensed in hesitation. Slowly his hands circled her waist, their heat penetrating the fabric. Lydia caught herself in surprise and stepped back.
Glancing over her shoulder, he pulled her behind a row of young hemlocks. He released her hand, and they studied one another as their eyes adjusted to the darkness.
"Have you thought about us?"
"I have thought of little else." Her face flamed at her forwardness. He waited for her answer. "My father wants me to marry and take my mind off worldly desires."
"Meanin' me." He snapped a twig from a branch and toyed with the needles. "Will marrying someone else take your mind off me?"
Lydia was comforted that he couldn't see the color she knew radiated from her face. She couldn't forget him in a thousand lifetimes. "I think not."
He scraped needles from the twig, and they fell to the black earth at his feet. "Will you marry me?"
Grasping her shoulder gently, he turned her toward him and pulled her closer, without touching his body to hers. His hand was heavy and strong on her shoulder, and he smelled faintly spicy. He curled his fingers under her chin, his knuckles tipping her face toward his. Lydia watched his face, anticipation striking a chord of forbidden excitement. Lowering his head, he touched his lips to hers. They were warm and firm. Her eyelids drifted shut. His breath fluttered on her cheek; hers stopped.
She knew then, at the touch of his gentle lips drawing her breath away, that there was something more. Something more than choosing a husband because of convenience or suitability, more than marrying a man because of his particular faith or lack of it. This feeling, this soul-deep feeling of rightness when Jakob's mouth moved over hers in a questioning, first-taste kiss, proved it. Her breathing resumed, irregularly, like the beating of her traitorous heart.
"You're the only woman I want to marry, but... if you don't want me, I'll leave you be."
Lydia's heart leapt in her chest. She fought the desperate urge to grip his shirtfront and cling to it for all she was worth. Don't leave me here! The singles dormitory loomed like a black-shrouded prison. When everything had been weighed and considered and worried over, her heart allowed only one answer.
"Ja, I will marry you." The soft words surprised them both. In the moonlight, in front of God and plain enough for Jakob to see, she smiled in pure elation, the weight of the past weeks replaced by an unexpected buoyancy.
Jakob placed his palm along the side of her face. "I'll be a good husband, Lydia."
"I know." Husband. The word, and the intimate way he said her name, stirred something to life inside her. Husband. His hand held her head still. For a breath-stealing moment, she thought he was going to kiss her again, but he released her and ran the hand through his moon-kissed hair. "I must tell my father," she said.
"I'll go with you."
Lydia would have preferred to wait another day, but Jakob wouldn't allow it. Though he'd been determined to convince her to marry him, deep down he'd half expected her to refuse, and he hadn't dared consider the possibility of losing her. That spontaneous hug, and her confident answer and smile, assured him she wanted to marry him. This unspoiled woman with the angelic face wanted to be his wife.
He wanted to embrace her, squeeze her forever and carry her away before Etham could manipulate her. But he knew the importance she placed on facing her father.
Inside, their footsteps muted by thin carpet, Lydia led the way to her father's study. Etham glanced up from the books on his desk. "You are no longer welcome here."
"I'm not here for your approval." Jakob stood stiffly at Lydia's side, a few protective inches ahead.
Lydia raised her hand plaintively. "Please, Father. May we sit and speak civilly, like Christians?"
He composed himself visibly, positioning himself in his leather chair. "Speak."
Lydia perched on the edge of a straight chair. Jakob pulled another close, hoping his nearness would encourage her.
"A decision I have made that will greatly displease you, and I regret that. If there were another way I would have it so. I want to marry Jakob."
Jakob savored the hard-earned words, knowing how difficult they were for her to speak, loving the fact that she meant them.
A vein stood out on Etham's forehead, and he gripped the edge of his desk with white knuckles. He glared venomously at Jakob. "How dare you take my daughter from her home!" Jakob opened his mouth, but Lydia jumped to his defense. "He is not taking me away. I go willingly, no matter what. The choice of how difficult this will be is yours. I wanted to tell you, to try to make you understand—"
"Enough!" His fierce shout silenced her. Black, black eyes bored into hers. "Sie Gott, if you stop now you will serve only a fair probation, and—"
"Vater." Lydia's voice was soft, tortured. Were her heart and soul the same? Something tender tore inside Jakob. He could never make this up to her. "I will marry Herr Neubauer."
"You will give up home, family, everything for this... Outsider?" He spat out the word as if it were bile.
Lydia lifted her chin, as though willing her voice not to quiver. Etham made it sound as if she were throwing her life away. Jakob's heart skipped a beat. Her father was wily. He knew how to bend her. Jakob wanted to shove his fist down the man's throat, but Lydia had to do this herself, her own way. Stand firm, darlin'. I'll make it all worth your while, I promise.
"His home will be mine. I do not give up my family—"
"You will! You will be no more welcome in Accord than he is. If my words have missed your heart, hear God's words. 'Be ye not unequally yoked with unbelievers.'" The nine o'clock bell rang. On the street, the crier led the chant. "Another day hath ended...." At home her brothers and sisters were tucking themselves into their cots, and down the hall from them her grandmother lay on her cot.
Lydia forced herself to envision the tiny, sterile rooms of the singles dormitory, to imagine lying on a cot night after endless black night. No husband, no children, no home. Life here would be hell.
She looked into Jakob's pale eyes. With his unwavering blue gaze, he willed her to stand firm.
It's my decision.
The freedom was heady. Exhilarating. All her life she'd waited for it, longed for it. She steeled herself and spoke from her heart, as her grandmother had admonished her to. "I repented, but God didn't remove these feelings. I will marry Herr Neubauer."
A flicker of anger—or was it hurt?—leapt into her father's eyes and then dis
appeared. "He has blinded you. Evil often disguises itself in handsome clothes."
"Jakob is not evil."
"The truth falls on deaf ears." Deliberately he closed every book on his desk and made a neat stack of them. "If you live outside the Lord's will, you are not welcome here. You forfeit what would rightfully have been yours. The bride box, the wedding quilt, the dishes, all of it. The Mitgift belongs to Rachael. She is now my eldest daughter."
Pain knifed through Lydia's chest, cutting off her breath and her sense of belonging. She would take nothing into this marriage—not her father's blessing, not God's blessing. Not the delicate china dishes that had been carried over from Germany by her great-great-grandmother.
"I will talk with Herr Neubauer alone," Vater said.
Distraught, she studied her father's familiar features. He would not meet her eyes. Numb, she stood.
Jakob walked her to the door. "I'll come for you in the morning. Unless you'd rather go with me now."
"Nein. I will tell my family goodbye and be ready."
Jakob closed the door and turned back to Etham. "You'll be sorry for that."
"Not as sorry as you," Etham thundered. "Your punishment will be a thousandfold for taking an innocent."
Unstirred, Jakob stood before the desk. "I'm shakin' in my boots."
Etham lunged to his feet. "I am aware of what you want. She is young and beautiful, and you have had unholy thoughts since the first time you saw her."
"Is the way you treat Lydia the way you think I should treat her? You slice her out of the family like a wormhole on a tomato. I respect her. I'll provide and care for her and make her a decent husband. I've waited long to choose a wife. I'm not gonna do anything to ruin her life or mine."
"You have a few years on her in age, Meier Neubauer," Etham said, stressing the farmer's title as if it were an insult. "But you are far ahead in carnal knowledge. She is pure. Innocent. She has never been exposed to a coarse, worldly man driven by his own lusts. Your desires are unheard-of, unseemly. She will be obedient and meek, because it is our way, but she will never share your crude desires. She will be revolted. Remember that."
Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01] Page 5