Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01]

by Heaven Can Wait

  Etham's words nicked Jakob's confidence. He shook his head slowly. "You can't keep her here. Accord isn't a prison."

  "I will pray for her to see the light. You will regret this, Herr Neubauer. She will never adapt to your life."

  Jakob turned and walked to the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. It was too late to turn back, even if he had wanted to. Lydia had taken a stand against her father. She had defended him against her father's insults. Lydia had chosen him. She was his now. Praying he deserved her confidence, he looked back at the man. "We'll prove you wrong."

  The following morning, Jakob gripped Lydia's arm above her elbow and assisted her ascent onto the springed buggy seat. Not once did she look back. Her feet had carried her down the footpath to where the springboard, hitched to the team of horses, awaited. Holding herself in control, she smoothed and adjusted the deep blue skirts of her best dress over her lap, checked the already precise bow of her Norman cap under her chin, tugged the jacket front of her close-fitting spencer together and then—and only then—did she turn her head.

  Jakob clucked to the team. They leaned into their harnesses, jerking her backward with the motion. She caught her balance and snapped her head forward.

  The horses drew them swiftly past the rows of Lombardy poplars lining the street, and her mind focused on the wagon wheels rumbling over the evenly paved brick road. This was where she had dreamed of sitting, high on the seat of an Outsider's buggy, off to see sights other than those she'd seen all her twenty years. She should be ecstatic. She should be anticipating a grand adventure. Why, then, was her heart breaking?

  Grandmother had been overjoyed at Lydia's decision. She'd assured Lydia repeatedly that she'd done the right thing and told her not to worry, Rachael and Mutter would take care of her. And they would. But a part of Lydia stayed behind in that tiny room. She felt like a traitor for leaving, guilty for the choice she'd been forced to make.

  The few people on the brick paths moved with purpose and paid them little attention; no one loitered on the streets of Accord. At this midmorning hour the Harmony Society had returned to their tasks after morning lunch and would work until the noon bell. No one would mourn her departure. Few would miss her. Her duties would be divided and assumed like water soaked up by a sponge. Like a lizard that grew a new leg to replace a severed one, her absence would barely be noticed. So unimportant was she that she left behind no void, no space that had been hers alone.

  At the end of Church Street, Jakob slowed the horses for the turn onto Main. They passed the town store, the ropemaker's and the bakery.

  Lydia looked long and hard at the bakery. The familiar warm smell of yeast and bread was a sad-sweet joy and she tried to take it all in at once, to remember it all just as it was this day. The sun pronounced the uniform redness of the buildings and nurtured the lush grapevines banding them.

  They crossed the stream bridge and pulled up onto the road that would take them away from the colony. This is real, Lydia chanted inwardly to combat the dreamlike quality of leaving her home. This is really happening.

  "Are you certain?"

  She turned and found Jakob studying her, gauging her reactions and the very real threat of tears. Wild daffodils cascaded down a ravine past his shoulder, their golden beauty lost to her. Was she certain? The time for deliberation had passed. She had considered and reconsidered. Which pain was the greatest? Losing her birthright and her father's blessing? Not seeing her brothers and sisters? Deserting Grandmother? Or the emptiness, the void in her life, if she never saw Jakob again?

  She studied the way his tilted hat shaded most of his face, and glanced at the enormous hands holding the supple leather reins, then back at his face. "I'm certain."

  He relaxed visibly. Was it so important to him, then? He gave her a wry smile. "I don't know if I can make up to you everything you're leaving behind."

  "I don't know if it's wise that you try."

  She had known her father wouldn't relent. Even in the beginning, when she'd unreasonably hoped he would accept Jakob as a fellow German, she'd known deep inside that he would not—could not. Etham's faith and commitment were strong, and he was not swayed by emotion. Not even when that emotion was love for his daughter.

  Soon Accord was miles behind them. A wheel hit a deep, dry rut and bounced them in and out, jarring her teeth. She gripped the edge of the seat and turned to check on her meager belongings in a tiny comer of the springboard.

  "We'll be stoppin' in town for necessaries. Think of what you'll be needing." Jakob seemed to sense her appraisal of those possessions. He flicked a deerfly from the rump of one of the horses with his whip.

  Her spirits revived at his words. A town! Alert, she sat straight on the seat and studied the narrow, meandering road for as far as she could see.

  Necessaries. She mulled over the word. Anything she had ever needed had been provided by the colony. It was a matter of pride for the tailor or shoemaker to note when someone needed an article. Since belongings were shared, shabby or worn-out clothing reflected on the whole. Children were not only reprimanded by their parents for scuffing shoes or ruining clothes, but by their classmates and playmates, as well, since all was community property. She had never wanted for anything. Necessities were shared, and tastes were Spartan.

  Jakob's family undoubtedly had everything they needed to cook and keep house. What more would there be for her to concern herself with? Instead of voicing these nervous thoughts, she asked, "What town?"

  "Butler. We're almost there."

  Lydia immediately drew her attention to the small buildings ahead, and a flutter began in the pit of her stomach. A town.

  Few of the unpainted wooden structures were over one story tall, and the main street was nothing but dirt, which blew up in clouds of dust under the horses' hooves, but to Lydia the sight was astounding. Were there people in all those buildings? she wondered. She wondered what they were they doing, what they were wearing. Fascinated, she scanned the shops and offices, reading their identifying signs. A livery, an eatery and a clothing store caught her attention. Wooden troughs stood in front of buildings with railings. Jakob drew near and stopped the springboard.

  He tied the reins to the brake handle and leapt over the side with an ease of motion surprising for a man his size. He took a small bucket from under the seat, filled it with water and let each horse drink. Only after putting away the pail did he turn to her and raise his hands.

  Lydia wavered, uncertain of his intention and hesitant about those huge hands coming in contact with her person on the street.

  "Stand and lean out. I'll lift you down."

  Tense, she stood, automatically sweeping the wrinkles from her full skirt. Her hands hovered in the air, as if about to play a melody on an invisible piano.

  Jakob cocked his head up at her, squinting into the bright sunlight, waiting.

  Leaning forward from the waist, she redistributed her weight. Jakob seized her waist firmly and effortlessly, and lowered her to the boardwalk. As quickly as he had grasped her waist, he let go and took her arm.

  The imprint of his strong hands seared her ribs, but their footsteps ringing on the boardwalk distracted her. A few storefronts away, he ushered her through an open doorway into the dim recess, a potpourri of sights and smells assailing her senses before she'd taken more than a few steps. Jakob strode noisily across the dusty board floor and approached a counter.

  A tiny, aged woman on the other side of the menagerie of notions peered curiously at Lydia through gold-rimmed spectacles. "Never seen you afore, miss. New here?"

  "Elsie, meet Lydia Beker. She's going to be my wife."

  The old woman's brows shot above her spectacles, and she pursed her pruny lips before she gave a curt nod. "Don't say! Right nice ter meetcha. Gotcher se'f a fine catch here, missy." She cackled, apparently unperturbed that her question had gone unanswered. "Be all ya kin do ta keep 'em Neubauer boys full a vittles and in clean dungarees."

  Lydia deciph
ered her words slowly. Jakob touched her arm. "I'm gonna pick up some things in back. Look around. Elsie, help Miss Beker with anything she wants, while I give Ned an order."

  Lydia raised her hand, as if to call him back. Her voice stuck in her throat. Feeling more vulnerable than she ever had in her life, she watched his broad back disappear. She lowered her hand.

  What would she say if he came back? He was a stranger to her, too.

  Chapter 6

  Lydia turned to orient herself in the cramped, overcrowded room. Each inch of floor and wall was stacked in a haphazard display of every imaginable—and some never imagined—items. Stingy paths wound between barrels, boxes, crates and bags. Never had she eaten anything not grown or raised in Accord by the Harmonists. She knew who milled the grain, who harvested the vegetables, who dug the potatoes, had helped with those tasks herself on occasion. It was a mystery where these foods had come from.

  Stacks of stiff dungarees, rows and bolts of innumerable fabrics, ribbons and lace littered countertops and shelves. Unusual hats with ornate trims, hats of every size and shape topped a lofty cabinet, dust apparent on their brims. Never had she worn anything not made by Accord's tailor or shoemaker or hatter. Her incredulous gaze took in rope, harnesses, tools and an assortment of unnamable items hanging from nails and pegs in the ceiling beams. In awe, she fingered a length of yellow satin ribbon.

  Jakob sauntered over to her side. "Like that?" His tawny hair held a ridge where his hat belonged.

  "It is pretty."

  "Want a yard?"

  She looked at the trim skeptically. "Whatever would I do with it?"

  "Wear it in your hair."

  She gauged his sincerity, wondering what kind of woman or occasion warranted the adornment of ribbon. "I don't—"

  "Elsie, a yard of this yellow ribbon. What else?"

  She lowered her head in embarrassment, having no idea what he expected of her, or what, if anything, she needed that she didn't already have. Neither did she comprehend the cost of material things, never having had occasion to know value in dollars and cents. "I know of nothing," she said.

  "Look at me."

  She did. That betraying muscle in his jaw twitched.

  "I promised I could provide for you, and I can." He led her to a counter displaying a variety of jars and bottles in dozens of shapes and sizes, the labels decorated with flowers and fancy script.

  Lydia followed like an obedient child, uncertain of his expectations, yet understanding that his pride was involved.

  "Annie and Emily have these notions litterin' their dressing tables. Isn't there something here you want?"

  She read a few labels. Cold cream. In a jar? What kept the cream from turning sour? Toilet water. One groomed with this tainted-looking water? "I have no dressing table," she stated, relieved of having to make the decision.

  Jakob shrugged his broad shoulders and led her to the yard goods. "How about calico for dresses?"

  Who sewed these fabrics into garments? she wondered. The few dresses she'd been rationed would be serviceable for many years. However, if it pleased him, she wouldn't deny him, even though the purchase was an extravagant waste. "Ja."

  "What color do you fancy?"

  There were colors and materials she'd never seen. "Never could I decide. Please select."

  From the bottom of a pile he withdrew a soft, pale yellow material decorated with tiny white flowers in delicate chains. Another stack yielded a vivid green cotton, and at her smile he added a sheer white muslin. The hovering Elsie approved his choices, too.

  "Can you find trim to go with the green?" he asked.

  Lydia nodded at the wide, snowy-white eyelet held against her green dress material. Elsie chose thread and inquired if Lydia wanted needles, bringing a card from under a counter. The dawning realization that she would be expected to create garments out of these supplies terrified her. What if Jakob knew how few abilities she possessed? Jobs in the colony were specifically assigned. She was a baker. Nothing more. How could she tell him?

  Purchases stacked on a counter, Elsie figured the debt on a slate, and Jakob added a paper-wrapped bar of lavender soap to the pile.

  He paid with coins counted from a leather pouch and carried the wrapped bundle out the door, adding the package to the assortment of bags stacked in the springboard.

  Lifting her by the waist, she grasped his corded forearms and balanced herself. Looking down into his face, she was disconcerted by his charming smile. Beneath her fingertips, his arms didn't tremble beneath her weight. She marveled at how long he held her suspended without growing tired. At last, almost reluctantly, he stood her in the springboard.

  The ride to Butler had taken nearly three hours, and the stop at the mercantile another hour. The day's anxiety had taxed Lydia. The horses leaned into their harnesses, and her back and neck ached with the strain of holding herself upright against the lurch and sway of the wagon.

  "To your farm how much farther?"

  Jakob withdrew a long object from behind the seat: yellow pleated fabric half covering a wooden handle. A white ruffle with limp fringe adorned the handle side. He pointed the object at her. "An hour or so."

  Accepting the proffered gift, she contemplated it.

  "It's a parasol."

  "Oh."

  He shifted the reins to his left hand and took the parasol back. He knew the secret, and the yellow material blossomed into a saucer-shaped shade on a pole. He held the parasol at an angle that prevented the burning sun from reaching her. "Your nose is pink."

  She accepted the gift this time with greater appreciation, rewarding his thoughtfulness with a gracious smile. She'd never had anything of her own before. Something brand-new, and purchased with her in mind. In delight, she watched the fringe bob and sway with the wagon. "Thank you, Jakob."

  He nodded and gave the horses his attention.

  More farms fell behind them on the last stretch of road. Green and yellow stretched ceaselessly, graduating into softer hues, line behind line. They crossed a swollen stream, and the cool spray the horses hooves threw up was a glorious, welcome relief. The water was clear and flowing, colored pebbles and tiny darting fish visible in the sparkling sunlight. Her senses were filled to overflowing. She'd waited so long. She'd imagined the rest of the world so many times, she'd been half-afraid that reality wouldn't meet her expectations. If only she could share the wonder of it all with her grandmother.

  Her stomach lurched as she anticipated arriving at Jakob's home. Please, allow them to like me, she petitioned God. Help me get through this day.

  As far as her eyes could see was more land, sky and wildlife than she'd ever known existed. The sun, in all its radiant glory, tasted like freedom.

  "Beautiful it is." Heat and weariness forgotten, she caught Jakob studying her impulsive reactions, and her cheeks burned hot.

  The unhurried road led past a tiny whitewashed church, its steeple housing a bell.

  "That's where we'll get married."

  She stared long and hard. The church was one-sixth the size of the church in which she had attended services three times each Lord's day since she was a week old. Wherever two or more are gathered... Size was irrelevant.

  The road became noticeably smoother, less jarring. Grass grew as high as the wagon wheels on both sides of the roadbed.

  They topped the rise, and the Neubauer homestead lay beyond. Her home now. The horses, Gunter and Freida, obviously knew they were home before she did, and stepped up their pace.

  The horse barn was the dominant building. The house stood two stories tall, with pillared porches on three sides and a stone chimney. Behind were a small log house, a privy and several outbuildings. Fields to the south and west showed varying shades of growing corn, grain and hay. Obviously the Neubauers owned acres of rich, fertile land and worked them well. Three men meant no hired help.

  Lydia felt as though she'd traveled thousands of miles to another continent, as different as this was from the sequestered col
ony of identical buildings she'd left. Jakob slowed the team at the house. No grass or flowers grew in the yard, or anywhere near the house. Chickens ran squawking from the horses, who pranced impatiently, eager to get to their feed.

  A small gathering appeared on the shaded porch, and two tall men advanced down the stairs. Lydia recognized Jakob's father on the porch with the women.

  Jakob bounded from the wagon seat, then turned and extended his hands. Rather than let the moment grow awkward, Lydia stood on rubbery legs, her stomach tied in knots, and leaned out. His widespread palms spanned her waist, lifting her easily to the ground. Her legs threatened to let her fall, but Jakob kept one strong arm wrapped around her waist. Lord, please allow them to like me.

  "Lydia, this is my brother Franz. Anton you've met." Like Jakob, they were large and fair, with gregarious smiles and huge, callused hands.

  Franz, the tallest and with the sharpest features, had sparkling blue eyes and sideburns riding the angle of his square jaw. His eyes smiled when he did, and he immediately reached for her hand. "Welcome, miss." He fished her bags from the back of the wagon. "I'll take these up for you."

  Anton had darker eyes, deeper-set, more contemplative. He smiled and greeted her. "Pleased to see you again."

  Anton led the team up the center drive. Jakob took her elbow and led her up the stairs onto the cool porch. "You remember Pa."

  "Herr Neubauer."

  "Happy to have you here, fraulein." Johann's seamy face crinkled into a smile much like those of his sons. Instinctively she knew she would feel comfortable with this man.

  Without waiting for an introduction, a russet-haired young woman in a practical skirt and shirtwaist came forward and took her hand. "You must be hot and tired. Come have a cold glass of lemonade. I'm Franz's wife, Annette, and I guess you've met Emily."

  Emily wore her bright golden curls on the back of her head and amply filled out a pink dress. Lydia had never seen the bright color on anything other than a flower. The garment had a tight bodice and frothy lace standing up around a revealing neckline. Emily gave her a hesitant smile. "Welcome, Lydia."