Annette led Lydia past a large room jammed with clusters of furnishings. Emily turned into the room and seated herself near Nikolaus, who played on the floor.
Jakob at her elbow, Lydia followed Annette past furniture, lamps and decorated boxes. Framed pictures hung on every wall. Each table surface was littered with odds and ends, from shells and doilies to figures of small animals and children.
"Here, sit and take off your bonnet." Annette pulled out a kitchen chair and scurried to fill a glass. Something in Jakob's manner must have alerted her. She paused, pitcher in hand. "I'm sorry. I just want to make you feel at home. I guess I could do that with a lot less fussing."
Much of their language was peculiar, with a different rhythm, stronger consonants and quickly rolled Rs. Theirs was an accent from a dialect Lydia had never heard. Annette spoke so quickly; Lydia hung a sentence or two behind.
Her eloquent eyes spoke a language of their own when she turned to Jakob.
"I'll carry your lemonade upstairs and let you rest. Franz already took up your things."
"I'll bring water so you can wash," Annette offered, drawing a bucket from under the basin.
Jakob ushered her up a spindled staircase into a furnished bedroom and placed her glass on a polished oak washstand. Lydia stared at the enormous bed. They would be married in three days' time, and would share this bed. An odd sensation fluttered in her chest, and jittery warmth seized her belly.
She turned to discover Jakob watching her in the washstand's oval mirror. Their eyes met. Something hot and unexpected passed between them, and she dropped her gaze.
"If there's anything you need, holler."
She nodded.
"This is my—our—room, but I'll be sleeping in the loft until... for a couple of days."
"Ja."
"Lydia." He turned from the mirror and faced her. "I know this is hard. I want you to feel comfortable here." He looked at the toe of his boot for several seconds. "This is your home now." He met her gaze.
"Danke."
"Want some help unpacking?" He gestured toward her satchel, near the door.
She shook her head, embarrassed at the thought of him seeing her personal clothing. "Nein."
"Well, then." He pointed to a chest of drawers. "I cleared half the drawers for you. See you at supper."
She nodded.
Alone in Jakob's sunny, airy bedroom, Lydia slanted a glance at the astounding bed. In the settlement, everyone except babies slept on single cots. This bed was a piece of furniture, raised off the floor on posts six inches in diameter. Sturdy ropes visibly threaded in and out of holes in the oak footboard and supported a thick mattress that sprung back when she poked it. She peeled back the edge of the coverlet. What an enormous amount of work to create a place for sleeping! She sat on the mattress to test its firmness, then lay down and noticed there were small casings filled with feathers at the top of the bed to rest her head on. And—oh, the height! How strange to lie so far from the floor.
The ceiling was painted, and the walls were freshly papered. An enormous bureau stood against one wall. She couldn't resist jumping up and opening the drawers. Jakob's clothing lay in neat, folded stacks. She felt like a thief invading his personal property, so she quickly shut the drawer.
The small door set under the eaves drew her interest, and she opened it, peering first one way and then the other into a long, slant-ceilinged storage space. More clothing hung on a wire strung across one end. Trunks and boxes were stacked in an orderly fashion at the other. Boots and shoes, small kegs and cigar boxes lined the shallowest portion of the wall space. The tiny room was well lit by a floor-level window.
Whatever did Jakob need so many possessions for? A shiny new wire stretched taut between two nails caught her attention. For her clothing, undoubtedly. She hadn't a tenth as many garments as it would hold.
Annette entered with an enormous porcelain pitcher of water, linens and the bar of soap Jakob had purchased. Unwrapped, the soap gave off a delicate flowery scent.
A different world this was, emphasized even more by the first meal they shared with her. They ate in the enormous kitchen at an oak trestle table flanked by benches and spread with a bright red cloth. The fried chicken, potatoes and beans smelled wonderful. Jakob sat close beside her.
Johann nodded to Anton, and all heads lowered.
"Lord, we thank you for this day and this family. Thank you for bringing Jake a wife. We were startin' to worry. Bless our crops and lands. Bless this food You gave us to the nourishment of our bodies. Amen."
Heads bobbed up and bowls were being passed before Lydia realized the prayer had ended. She glanced discreetly from one Neubauer to the next. Johann was absorbed with eating his meal, but the others had difficulty controlling their curiosity and met her eyes occasionally. In Accord, supper was eaten in the assembly hall, the men and women separated.
Having eaten chicken only baked or boiled, she heartily enjoyed the rich, flavorful crust. She watched in amazement as Jakob and his brothers consumed piece after piece, piling the bones high on their plates.
Appetites eventually sated, Annette whisked plates away and replaced them with bowls of heavy applesauce cake seasoned with nutmeg. Lydia declined the coffee Annette offered her.
While the men talked of the tools they planned to sharpen that evening, Emily turned to Lydia. "Did you have a pleasant ride?"
"Ja. It was exciting to see the countryside and the store. Never have I seen so much gathered all in one place."
Emily nodded. "Yes, the mercantile is quite crowded."
Seated at her far left, Emily still wore the pink costume, evidence that she had not fried the chicken. Her baby, tied into a wooden high chair with a dish towel, squashed his portion of cake into a sticky mess on the scarred wooden tray. Lydia couldn't help but smile at his rapt expression as he drew circles in the goo.
"That's Nikolaus," Jakob offered. "He's something, isn't he? I can't look at him while I'm eatin'."
"He's a fine one to talk," Franz interjected. "The rest of us can't watch him eat."
Anton chortled from his side of the table, and in the blink of an eye Jakob plucked a chicken bone from the red tablecloth and tossed it directly past Lydia's face. Franz intercepted the bone and took aim. Annette snatched it from his fingers and fixed a warning frown on her husband. "You'd better wash up. You have tools to work on."
The look Franz gave his younger brother said, "We'll finish this later." He stood and sauntered to the sink. Twirling the dish towel between both hands until it wound around itself, he snapped his wife on the hip.
Lydia watched in awe. She couldn't believe Jakob had thrown a chicken bone across the table. What an ungentlemanly thing to do.
As if sensing her disapproval, Jakob apologized. "I'm sorry. C'mon. Let's go sit on the porch."
"But the dishes—"
"Not tonight," Annette ordered. "You'll have plenty of chances to do dishes, believe me. Go on. Emily will help, and I'll join you later."
Emily gave Annette a confused nod, and watched them leave the room.
Jakob led Lydia through the house and onto the enormous porch that stretched across the front of the house and down one long side. Ushering her to a cushioned wooden chair, he excused himself. "I'll get more coffee."
Left alone, Lydia studied the yard in the twilight. The light from the windows added a faint illumination across the wide porch. There were no gas lamps, no other houses for miles, no other people.
She felt quite small and alone. A rapid scratching sound caught her attention.
The sound grew louder, approaching from the side porch. The sound neared and stopped. Lydia stared in growing trepidation at the corner of the house.
An enormous long-legged, shaggy animal stared back at her. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she feared her supper would follow. Eyes glittering black, the snout-nosed animal sat on its furry haunches, its long, fleshy pink tongue lolling out the side of its grotesque mouth as it panted. The
animal resembled drawings of wolves she had seen in books, but was larger, and a thousand times more intimidating.
Wondering what the chances were of escaping the animal, Lydia decided against sudden movement. Slowly she drew her feet up onto the seat of the chair. Moving an inch at a time, she stood on the chair seat. One eye on the wolf, she looked hopefully for somewhere to escape. She prayed Jakob would return, but at the same time feared for his safety if he did. The wolf watched her stretch one leg in a most unladylike manner, grasp a pillar for support, pull herself up and stand on the narrow wooden rail. The animal stood below her, its nails clicking against the wooden porch floor.
Round brown eyes stared down into deepest black.
The wolf easily lifted its front paws to the banister at her feet, rising to meet her. Lydia screamed in terror. Unaffected, it sniffed the toes of her shoes. Its long tongue darted out and tasted the leather. Heart pounding, she screamed again, the sound bloodcurdling even to her own ears.
Chapter 7
"Get down, Jess!" At Jakob's commanding tone, the animal sat back on its haunches. A tiny sound escaped Lydia's throat, her only outward acknowledgment of Jakob's presence. Her eyes remained on the beast.
"Come here!" The animal padded obediently to his side. Jakob stepped closer to Lydia, his wary gaze lifting a considerable height, since she stood four feet above him on the railing. She reached for his shoulder, but then snatched her fingers back.
"Lydia? Are you all right?"
"I—It—" she stammered.
"Jessie's our pet. She's a dog."
Johann, Franz and Anton appeared from the side yard. Annette and Emily stood at the corner of the house, drawn to the source of excitement, also.
Jessie rolled soulful eyes from one Neubauer to the other. Then, seeming to lose interest in the entire party, she thumped her tail on the porch floor and moved out her leg for a long scratch at her black-and-brown fur.
Searing heat spread up Lydia's neck and cheeks. They thought her a complete fool! How ashamed Jakob must be. "I—I am sorry. The d-dog frightened me."
She extended one foot to step down. The dog stood and took a step. Instinctively she grasped Jakob's shoulder.
"Jessie! Stay! She's curious. She won't hurt you." Disbelief must have been apparent on her face. "Anton, take her around back, will ya?"
For a startled moment, Lydia thought Jakob referred to her, but Anton climbed over the side of the porch rail and coaxed the wolf-dog away. The family politely dispersed.
Jakob took her hand from his shoulder, pulled her arm around the back of his neck and lifted her into his grasp. One muscled arm hooked behind her knee, the other wrapped around her back. He carried her easily against his hard chest, her eyes scant inches from his chin. Her breast pressed against his. She sensed him studying her face, and self-consciously lowered her lashes. Slowly, fingers lingering at her waist, he lowered her to the floor.
"You've never seen a dog?" He gestured for her to sit and seated himself opposite her.
"It looks like a wolf."
"You'll get used to her. She helps with the cows."
"Ja? What does she do?"
"Keeps them from straying when we're bringin' them in for milking."
"I can milk a cow."
"No!" He grinned mischievously and pretended to give her an amazed stare.
"I milked our cow every evening."
"Can you make butter?"
"Nein. That was not my job. The milk is turned in each morning—except our family's share. We requisitioned butter from the town store."
"I was only teasing."
"Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Say things to mock."
"I didn't mock. I only mean to make you laugh, have a little fun."
They looked at one another, then away. His sense of humor was foreign to her. As he was. As his home was. Lydia studied the road she'd traveled. Long shadows of scattered elms lay across the drive in wavy lines, because of the grass growing up the center, where wagon wheels left it undisturbed. "My abilities are unimpressive. I wish to be useful."
"I'm impressed. I don't think Annette can milk, and I know Emily can't. It's a..."
"A what?"
"Well, men usually do the milking."
"Oh." Perhaps it was disgraceful to do a man's chore. She decided not to boast of her skills, if any. The things she'd learned to do might be inappropriate for her new life. She had a wealth of education, but her knowledge would be of little use to her as a farmer's wife.
Wife! In three days she would be married to this man. Her thoughts rushed back to the room upstairs, to the enormous high bed, and something wild burst into an enthusiastic fluttering in her chest.
Jakob leaned back comfortably, raised his long legs and rested his feet on top of the rail. His dungarees were faded but clean, and his boots, though worn, had been polished many times. His blue chambray shirt covered a broad chest; the sleeves, rolled up past his elbows, revealed muscle-corded arms with a pale covering of flaxen hair. The hair on his head was a shade lighter, and long, falling over the collar of his shirt. He had an animated face, grinning and guileless one moment, honest and attentive the next.
Never before had she pondered a person's appearance. Surely he had chores, like the others. "Am I taking you away from something?"
"Yes." His relaxed gaze turned to her, and he grinned. "Thanks."
Her heart did a reverse somersault. He always managed to say something confusing, and each time he did, it reaffirmed how peculiar his thinking was in comparison to hers. He spoke more slowly, more clearly, than the women, and she was grateful for that, but understanding the words and comprehending their meaning were two different matters.
The sun had set nearly an hour before, so Jakob had escorted her into the parlor, inviting her to sit on a love seat. He settled beside her. Lydia didn't know where to focus her attention in the overstimulating room.
Annette appeared, her apron gone. She had changed into a printed navy-blue dress, tailored tight at her narrow waist with a pleated and embroidered white inset at the bodice. Her warm smile offered Lydia a welcome.
A low table in front of the love seat held a wooden tray, and Annette poured cups of steaming black coffee from a warming pitcher on it. It smelled like nothing Lydia had ever known. She accepted the cup handed her. She watched Jakob. He blew on the steaming liquid, took a tentative sip, blew again, then drank.
Following his example, Lydia did the same. Acrid and bitter, the drink burned her tongue. Annette settled herself in a stuffed chair near the fireplace. One or two at a time, the rest of the family migrated to the source of activity. Lydia declined when a fresh pot was passed, having barely managed to finish her first cup.
Jakob caught her stifling a yawn. "You're exhausted. Go on up."
"There's a well of hot water on the step-stove," Annette offered. "If you need anything else, just yell."
"Danke, und gute Nacht."
Good-nights echoed.
Emily gave the young woman a sympathetic nod.
As she directed her attention to mending the small shirt in her hands, Emily listened to Jakob escorting Lydia up the stairs. A spot of crimson appeared on the fabric, and she stared at the tip of her finger. Concern for the girl's place in this household diminished the physical pain of the needle's prick. It was plain Lydia was out of her element here, and Emily understood completely. But the others appeared sympathetic to her plight.
Lydia probably felt foolish about the dog. She'd felt foolish plenty of times herself. Like before supper when Anton had coaxed her to sit beside him on the bed. She'd been his wife long enough now, she shouldn't feel so awkward when he touched her... every time he looked at her. She would offer Lydia her help, but she hadn't the first idea how to fit into this family. She never had.
And in some dark secret recess of her mind, she would feel like a failure if they all liked Lydia better than they did her. She'd been here longer. Goodness knows s
he wanted them to think well of her. An ache blossomed behind her eyes.
She needed to rest.
"What is that song?" Lydia glanced up from the potato she was peeling.
Distracted, Annette answered absently, "Turkey in the Straw." She dropped the knife she held and left the room abruptly, returning minutes later with a tissue-wrapped package.
"What is this?"
"Open it."
Carefully wiping her hands on one of the hemmed flour sacks the Neubauers used for kitchen towels, Lydia accepted the package. With great care, she unwrapped the almost translucent paper from a flat box. Slowly she removed the lid and folded back another layer of the same tissue. Inside lay pieces of stark white, daintily crocheted... She looked to the other woman for enlightenment.
"It's a lovely wedding custom. The bride wears something borrowed." Annette reached in and took the pieces, handing them to Lydia. "The collar and cuffs are mine. They'll look stunning on your dark blue dress."
Lydia examined Annette's tawny eyes for anything other than generosity, but saw only kindness. Unspoken but understood was the implication that her drab blue dress, though still inappropriate for a wedding in the Lutheran community, would be improved by the dainty accessories. Lydia was many inches taller than Annette, and this offering was no doubt the only solution.
"I have another surprise, too."
Lydia followed her toward the stairs. On the other side of the doorway, she nearly ran into Annette's back. The other woman drew up short, saving herself from a collision with Emily.
The blond woman stood erect, her chin tilted in a defiant manner. Lydia stepped next to Annette. Emily stood in front of them, her green eyes wide with surprise. "Excuse me. I didn't mean to get in your way."
Annette patted her shoulder. "It's okay. We're bound to run into each other once in a while, aren't we?"
They continued up the stairs. On the landing, Lydia turned as realization dawned. Emily had been standing on the other side of the doorway, listening to their conversation. She found it curious that the other young woman should do that.
Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01] Page 7