Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01]
Page 8
Annette's room was much the same as Jakob's, but embellishments made the space seem smaller. The bed was massive, but without thick posts. A wardrobe stood against one wall, round boxes stacked on top. An enormous embroidery hoop holding a half-finished pillowslip lay on a Windsor rocker.
Jakob had been correct. A dressing table, as he'd called it, adjacent to the window, stood littered with squat jars and tall bottles, combs and brushes, hairpins, buttons and beaded collars. The room had a powdery, floral scent, completely feminine. In contrast, Franz's dusty boots stood under the washstand.
A colorful quilt in a tulip design draped the bed. Annette picked up a frothy spill of elaborate lace. Three white combs were sewn into the braided white silk crown she offered. "Another tradition—something old. This veil was Franz's and Jakob's mother's. I wore it at my wedding."
Lydia allowed her to flutter the lace about her shoulders and arrange the veil on her head, but her cap prevented Annette securing the combs.
"I can fix your hair so the veil will stay."
Lydia stared at the white lace against her dark hair and her dress reflected in the standing oval mirror. How different she looked. Occasionally she had glimpsed her reflection in the small mirror that sat on her grandmother's chest of drawers; never had she seen a full reflection. How lovely she felt wearing the feminine accessory. "Is it the custom?"
"Every bride wears a veil, but few are this beautiful."
"I don't wish to embarrass Jakob. Danke. I will be pleased to wear the borrowed gifts." She removed the veil, and Annette placed it in a huge trunk constructed of dark wood with a carved heart-and-rose design at the foot of the bed. Lydia ran her fingers over the polished surface.
"It's my dower trunk. My father made it for me when I was nine or ten."
"You are fortunate."
"Do you know what a dowry is?"
Lydia's dark eyes filled with sudden tears. "I know."
Annette touched her arm. "Did I say something wrong?"
"Nein. You are very kind." Struggling with the flood of tears, Lydia turned her face away.
Annette offered her a delicately scented handkerchief. "I'm sorry if I've done something to upset you."
"No. Not at all. My own thoughts disturb me. I must remind myself that material possessions are unimportant."
Annette drew her to the high bed's edge.
She had given no thought to the enormous task before her. Everything was so different. Torn from one way of life and thrust into another, how could she hope to fit in? How would she ever learn it all? She couldn't bear to embarrass Jakob. He must never regret asking her to come.
"To this marriage I bring nothing," she said at last. "None of the things a man expects. None of the familiar things a woman likes to keep near. I have nothing to offer Jakob." She dabbed the handkerchief at the corners of her eyes. Temporarily burying her disgrace in the confusion of moving and settling in, she was unable to stifle the humiliation any longer. She'd been cheated by her father's denial and his refusal to accept her marriage. Alienated by her own people, she wondered if she could fit in, or if her awkwardness would be a disappointment to Jakob.
"Nonsense! I just met you, but I can see why Jakob chose you. Not for anything you carry into the house, but for what you carry inside. Here." Annette touched her own breast. "You're a beautiful person, Lydia, inside and out. You'll make Jakob happy. He didn't need a wife to bring things. What could he possibly need?"
Lydia managed a watery smile. What did Jakob need?
Annette touched her soft, scented cheek against her new friend's. "I'm glad you're here."
"I was afraid I would have no one to talk to. My grandmother was—is—my friend."
"Well, you have me now. And Jakob."
Lydia smoothed the handkerchief with trembling fingers. She would do her best. She would not let Jakob regret his proposal. She would not embarrass him. That she promised.
The morning of the wedding, Annette and another young farm wife, Charlotte, whisked Lydia into a tiny room behind the pulpit area. Annette coaxed her into removing her cap and letting down her hair.
Charlotte watched in delight as Annette transformed the wavy sable tresses with the aid of an enormous roll of dark, tangled hair—a rat, she'd called it—and smiled at the horror on Lydia's face. "You'll have to start saving hair from your brushes and combs to make your own."
Lydia nodded, noting how the women used the rats to create rolls and add height. Charlotte wore her red-gold hair in a shiny twist, wispy curls cascading onto her neck.
Annette placed the billowy white veil on her sister-in-law-to-be and adjusted the already perfect collar and cuffs. She handed her a delicate bouquet of violets and cherry blossoms. Lydia didn't know whose hand shook more.
The pews were full on both sides of the tiny church, men and women sitting together. The sea of unfamiliar faces took Lydia aback. A gay assortment of hats—the costume sort, not practical daywear—adorned the ladies' heads. Reverend Mercer stood resplendent in flowing white robes, a blood red stole hanging down the front. A huge, ornate gold cross on a chain lay heavily on his chest. In his hands he held a Bible, for which Lydia gave silent thanks.
Towering over the minister in a black suit, a pleated white shirt and a familiar string tie, stood Jakob. Lydia held her breath. His hair was freshly clipped and brushed back from his tanned face in sun-bleached waves. Easy smile lines appeared at the corner of each eye—he was a splendid-looking man. Hesitantly she released her breath and smiled into his eyes. The quavering organ music stopped.
The minister read a prayer, and the congregation repeated some of the lines. He asked the bride and groom to kneel and repeat the confession, leading them slowly.
"O almighty God, merciful father..."
Lydia's father often preached on the Rappites' exodus from Germany. Their faith had been opposed to many facets of the church of Germany, this rite being one of them. She shuddered, imagining her father's reaction.
Seeing her slight trembling, Jakob took her slender hand reassuringly in his work-hardened one. His gaze rested on her face, and, at the touch of his hand, her heart flip-flopped in her breast. This ceremony united them for life! There was no turning back.
Individually, they repeated their vows. Jakob first, his voice mellow-timbred and clear. "I, Jakob, do promise to love—"
How could he promise that? "—and to cherish you, to bear with each other's infirmities and weaknesses—" Oh, would he be burdened with her weaknesses? "—to comfort you in sickness, trouble and sorrow." At least she never got sick. "I do promise and covenant to be thy loving and faithful husband." His promise brought tears to her eyes and a lump to her throat. "In plenty and in want, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, as long as we both shall live."
Lydia's softly accented voice brought a gentle smile to his lips with "to be thy loving and faithful wife." He placed a slender gold wedding band on her trembling finger. The minister pronounced them man and wife, and gave Jakob permission to kiss her—in front of the entire congregation.
Her shock must have been evident, for he tugged her close with the hand he still held, and pressed his lips against her cheek. The veil hid the contact from the congregation's view, and the crowd murmured their approval.
"I now present Mister and Mrs. Jakob Neubauer." Friends and neighbors stood and applauded. Mortified at the attention, Lydia lowered her head and allowed her new husband to escort her from the church.
Within the hour, springboards, wagons and buggies dotted the Neubauers' dooryard. An area near the kitchen offered shade for tables and food, while a protected spot farther out was allotted for kegs—and a good portion of the menfolk. Before Lydia knew it, she headed a line, Jakob at her elbow. He filled her plate and led her to a blanket spread away from the crowd.
"Where did the food come from so quickly?"
"They've had it ready all morning," Jakob said. "These shindigs are the highlight of the season. Sharing food and frie
ndship is important. We work hard, and we like to play hard when we get the chance. Wait until the music starts." He bit into a chicken leg and winked.
"Will they play 'Turkey in the Straw'?"
He grinned. "Is that a favorite of yours?"
"I don't know. I should like to hear it."
"Then you will." He tipped his cup at her. "Eat."
She picked at her food. Three young boys ran past them playing a game of tag, and frenzied barking echoed across the dockyard. Jessie, tied with a length of rope to a white pine tree, leapt on her tether. Lydia knew she was the reason the poor dog had been anchored to a tree for the past three days. "Jessie hates me."
"Naw, she just wants to play with the kids."
"May she?"
She watched him enjoy a slice of bread that had most assuredly not been baked by Annette. She'd noticed her new sister-in-law's baking skills weren't as good as her way with chicken and beef dishes. "You want me to set her loose?"
"I feel sorry for her."
"I think she'll stay clear of you, but just in case, you can always shinny up this tree." He tilted his head, awaiting her reaction, and learned she could stare him down. He shrugged his shoulders and loped down the decline. On one knee, he took Jessie's head between both hands and said something softly into her face. Jessie's tongue bathed his chin and jaw adoringly. He grinned and scratched her ears.
Loosed, Jessie raced after the boys, her ears flopping.
As the afternoon wore on, beer flowed through the men's steins and mugs and they chose teams for the games. When Jakob was drafted, Lydia stood on the sidelines with the women. Most of the ladies had exchanged their elegant hats for more practical slat bonnets, which kept the sun from their faces. Annette offered the use of her bonnet, and Lydia gladly exchanged the veil.
Jakob was one of the four men who formed a large square. Two men, one of them Anton, stood inside the square. "What are they doing?"
"Mosch Balle," her sister-in-law replied, watching with anticipation.
Corner ball? The men outside the square tossed a hard-looking rubber sphere. Faster and faster the ball flew, until at times Lydia lost track of it. Men and children on the sidelines yelled. Abruptly a burly man threw the ball at Anton, in the center. Anton dodged; the ball bounced across the square and another player caught it. Again the ball whizzed into the center, where the second man avoided it. Again and again the men threw the ball, until it struck Anton on the shoulder with a solid thunk. He staggered. The crowd cheered.
Players swigged beer from their steins and began again. Lydia was mortified at the sight of Jakob standing as a target in the center of the square. His own brothers were tossing the hard ball back and forth, preparing to strike.
She couldn't look away.
A forceful pitch sailed through the air, aimed high. Jakob twisted out of reach. The thrower left the field amid good-natured jeers. The players shot the ball between them until once again it was 'hot.' Lydia flinched at each attempt to strike Jakob. He ducked and dodged, but, inevitably, a well-aimed ball flew into the center and struck him on the thigh.
The farmers shouted wildly, laughing and making ribald comments concerning the groom. Jakob accepted a kerchief from Reverend Mercer and guided Lydia toward the tables. He drank a glass of tea, refilled it and drank again. She kept her lashes lowered.
Never had she seen rough play, or play of any manner for that matter. Never had she heard crude comments, or seen women moving among men as equals. Never had she watched uninhibited fun, heard genuine laughter, or known freedom and spontaneity in an inconsequential activity. How amazing. How forbidden and frightening.
"Something wrong?"
She shook her head and sipped tart lemonade from a fruit jar. Jakob wiped his face and neck and ran long fingers through his hair.
"Are you mad because I left you alone?"
"Nein, Jakob. I did not..."
"Go ahead."
"I did not like to see you hit."
He almost laughed, but caught himself. "We play Mosch Balle all the time. For hours, sometimes. It's harmless."
"Does the ball hurt?"
"Naw. Well, yeah, it stings, but that's just part of the game."
She sipped her drink.
He looked over the populated dooryard and lawn and tucked his fingers in the pockets of his trousers. "I won't play if it bothers you."
Lydia looked up and waited until his gaze flitted uncomfortably to hers. He would endure the men's teasing to please her? "Don't be foolish. You will play."
"I'll tell you what—I'll do my best to see that I don't get hit."
She offered him a wry lift of one brow.
He tossed his head back and laughed.
The melodious sound insinuated itself into Lydia's heart. Laugh lines creased each side of his mouth and eyes, as she'd expected. She caught her breath and managed to look him in the eye. "I can see you do your best now."
Impetuously he took her hand. Her fingers were cold from the jar, and he kissed the backs of them. She didn't know how amusing she could be. He was pleased by his family's warm acceptance. He'd hurt for her when she left her own people. Everything was new and frightening, but she took it in stride, even her unexpected, though endearing, reaction to Jessie. He wanted to teach her everything, to teach her how to have fun and enjoy life. Although uncertain how to proceed, he swore he'd do his best to please her.
"We're going to be happy together, Lydia." Still smiling, he released her hand and enjoyed her blush.
It wasn't long before the musicians brought out their violins, dulcimers and banjos. Couples paired off for square dancing. Watching in wonder, Lydia tapped her toe. "We have only brass instruments in the colony. These songs are faster and lighter than hymns."
Jakob studied her lovely dark eyes.
"I thought music was purely for worship. This is for..."
"For fun," Jakob supplied.
"Ja."
"Are you having fun?"
Her eyes widened. "Am I?" He took her hand. "Want to learn the steps?" She shook her head. He led her around the dancers to where the musicians stood or sat on crates. They finished the song, and he took a violin from a gray-bearded man.
"You play the violin?" she asked as he tucked the instrument under his chin.
"Fiddle," he corrected. He tapped his foot and led the measure, the others joining in. She beamed with delight. "Turkey in the Straw!" Halfway through the song, he handed the fiddle back to its owner and took her hand. "Do you know the words?" she asked. "The words?" She nodded.
"To the song? Well... yeah."
"Will you sing them?"
Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he glanced around self-consciously and pulled her away from the musicians. He cleared his throat.
"Well, I had a little chicken
and she wouldn't lay an egg,
So I poured hot water
up and down her leg!
The little chicken hollered,
and the little chicken begged.
Then the damned little chicken
laid a hard-boiled egg..."
She laughed out loud.
Jakob watched newly animated features light up her guileless face. The setting sun highlighted the gold flecks in her distracting eyes. Her abandonment and her beauty tightened an unexpected coil inside him, bringing a smile to his face. This lovely, unaffected woman was his bride. Tonight he would sleep not in the hayloft, but in his own familiar bed, with his own unfamiliar wife. How long he had waited.
Warmth, beyond that which the summer evening created, flushed his skin and seared his vitals. Wife. He had a wife. He prayed he was ready to be a husband.
Chapter 8
Emily watched them, Lydia's laugh and Jakob's tender, adoring smile creating an ache in her breast. Even on this first day as man and wife, they laughed and smiled with each other. Anton had married her at the office of the Justice of the Peace in Pittsburgh, before bringing her here. He'd been nothing but res
pectful and considerate. The weekend after her arrival there had been a celebration, much like this one, in their honor.
She hadn't know how to behave, what to do around the others. Still she was self-conscious and stilted in her dealings with them, and she didn't know how to change that.
What did she have to do to make Anton show his feelings for her? Anything would be better than him tiptoeing around her. Anger. Jealousy. Anything.
Annette came to stand beside her. "Where is Nikolaus?"
"He's with Anton. Over there."
They looked to where Anton held his son at the edge of the dancers, bouncing him on his arm. The boy laughed with pleasure.
"I can watch him so you and Anton can dance."
Emily nodded. "Thank you."
Lydia looked into her new husband's face, a myriad of emotions fluttering through her. He smiled, and she felt warm and liquid inside.
A tiny, aged woman Lydia recognized from the mercantile broke up their absorption with one another. "I swear, young Neubauer, you look as pleased as a hog set loose in a sweet 'atater patch!"
Lydia smiled politely. "You've come a long way from your store, ma'am."
Jakob couldn't help but grin.
"Weddin's a big to-do in the county. Nobody misses the gatherin' no matter how far 'tis. Good vittles."
Jakob looked pleased. He had finger-combed his unruly hair. His tanned face and neck glowed with perspiration. Lydia surprised herself by wondering what the skin beneath his damp shirt would feel like to touch.
Jakob touched her elbow and spoke to Elsie. "Excuse us. Thanks for comin'."
Dancers dipped and swayed in time to the music, stepping lively in individual pairs. The newlyweds watched from the sidelines. Jakob visited with a barrel-chested neighbor.
"You should be dancing."
Lydia turned to the two young women who stood beside her. "I beg your pardon?"
"It's a tradition for the bride and groom to dance together. The newlyweds usually dance the first dance."