A great swelling emotion radiated, sweet and calming, until she lay content in his arms. She knew then, without a doubt, that she could learn to love this man as a wife loves a husband.
His breath fanned her cheek. He kissed her mouth... lightly... reverently... encouraged by the way she relaxed against his chest.
Through the fabric of her nightdress, he found her breast, his large palm unmoving, learning her shape and size and the beat of her heart beneath. Lydia lay perfectly still, not daring to move and forgetting to breathe. At last he moved his fingers and, with a tentative exploration, discovered her texture beneath the cloth. He brushed the sensitive skin, and her nipple puckered beneath his touch. Her involuntary reaction shamed her.
His breath on her skin was hot and rapid.Walk in the spirit and ye shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh.... Since God had created humans male and female, this act must be necessary, she thought. Lust was the sinful aspect.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"Nein."
Uncertainly, he sought the hem of her nightdress, his fingers grazing her skin and sending shivers skittering along her legs. He inched the fabric upward until she shifted her weight to assist him, her heart racing. His hand brushed her bare thigh, and she jumped.
"It's okay."
"Ja."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Whatever must be done."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"I am prepared."
"But you're shaking."
"So are you."
"Tell me if I hurt you."
"It is over quickly." She fervently prayed her grandmother was right.
Chapter 9
He obeyed and lifted himself above her, his body heavy, his skin warm and electrifying. She held her breath, and he engulfed her with his bulk, his hard strength taking on a life of its own in the dark. His hair-roughened knee urged her soft thigh aside. Unfamiliar stimuli quickened her senses. After twenty years of touch deprivation, she responded with breathless anticipation to every inch of his skin against hers. Jakob was exhilarating, a fiery intoxicant she needed to indulge in.
Her blood pounded at an alarming rate, and her heart cracked against her rib cage. He nuzzled her ear, and goose-flesh skittered across her shoulders. Her hands found no safe place to light, so they fluttered in the darkness before cautiously lowering to his back. His heated flesh burned her palms, and she gasped a tiny noise of surprise and revelation. Nothing had prepared her for this. Nothing could have.
She wanted to melt in his heat, to be consumed by his strength and weight. Her taut body quivered expectantly; an entire lifetime of self-control and passivity warred inside her. "Is it all right to want this?"
Slowly Jakob raised his head.
She hadn't realized she'd said the words aloud.
She has never been exposed to a coarse, worldly man driven by his own lusts. Etham Beker's words rang in Jakob's head. His attempt to penetrate her body lost its drive. Lydia needed time. Time to get to know him so that she didn't feel she'd done this important thing with a stranger. Or a brute.
He made a strangled sound deep in his throat and pushed himself away. Falling back on the cooled sheet, he flung his arm over his head, the knuckles of one hand rapping the wall.
"Jakob?" she whispered, voice trembling.
"Sorry. I just can't," he replied raggedly. Pure... innocent... obedient and meek... will be revolted... Jakob squeezed his eyes shut and fought the crazy urge to seal his hands over his ears. She was everything her father said she was... touchingly naive... submissive... and frightened.
He'd frightened her. Silently he petitioned God not to allow Etham Beker's predictions to come true.
"Was it... is it me?" she asked. "Something I did?" Something I didn't know how to do that I should have? Oh, God, no. Don't let him be disappointed with me. I'll try harder. Just let me know how. Body quaking, her inadequacy tore at something vital, her ignorance rendered her more vulnerable than ever. Bruised inside, she ached.
"Hush." His huge hand swooped from the darkness and smoothed her hair away from her forehead in a soothing gesture. He drew the bedclothes up and tucked them around her. "It's been a trying a week. Today was long and tiring. I know it wasn't easy for you. You're tense, and we need time to relax." He paused. "I can't bear to hurt you."
She pinched her eyes shut, and he stroked her hair. Discovering the dampness at her temples, he brushed her cheek with callused fingers. "Have I hurt you?"
His unselfish concern was more than she could bear. Her ignorance and fear had robbed him of his right as her husband, yet still he pacified her. Shamed, she turned her face to the pillow.
He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Hey... please don't." Leaning on one elbow, he kissed her temple. "Don't turn away. Forgive me?"
His gentling tone, more than his words, comforted her. Blackness surrounded them, cradling them in its concealing wrap. Jakob turned, his weight shifting and wringing groans from the bed frame.
What must he think of her? Perhaps he concealed anger. Or disgust. How did men and women go through with what they'd attempted and still face one another? No wonder Father Rapp had considered the institution of marriage unnecessary. Angry with herself, Lydia took her frustration out on the concept of marriage.
"Get some sleep. We've got our whole lives ahead of us." He rolled to his back, adjusting the tick around them.
Discreetly Lydia tugged her cotton gown down around her legs and nestled her cheek against the cool pillow. Jakob's form, next to her in the soft bed, was the greatest hindrance to relaxation; the absence of the bell tolling the hour, the intimate blackness and the unfamiliar house were nothing compared to his awesome presence.
Never had she shared a bed. It was not the Society's way. Never had she shared the warmth of a confined space or been near enough a man to detect the scent of his skin and hair, hear him breathing, near enough to touch... to lie against...
The night was endless darkness painted with the uncanny memory of Jakob's skin, his breath against her ear, his lips on hers. His soft snoring, though barely perceptible, was as loud as gunfire because of its peculiarity. In time she drifted into a light sleep, waking often to orient herself and listen to her husband. Each time a knee or an elbow came in contact with skin, she was alert.
At dawn, she drifted off. The other side of the mattress dipped heavily, and Jakob stood, stretching.
Pale gray light sufficiently exposed him as he stood, and Lydia's curiosity overcame prudence. Large as he was, his body was supple and graceful; long legs, narrow hips and a solid waist flared up toward a tanned torso to his well-proportioned back and shoulders. He ran long fingers through his mussed hair and washed his face with the cold water in the porcelain bowl. Taking clean dungarees from a drawer, he stepped into them.
Lydia closed her eyes and sensed him as he neared the bed. A moment later, she heard him retrieve his boots and leave the room. Downstairs, the stove lids clanged and the back door closed.
The bridal sheet was a mass of shiny wrinkles, rumpled, but as pure white as ever. Lydia snatched it from the bed, folded it and stored it in the linen chest, wondering how many of her ancestors had had only a few wrinkles to show after their wedding nights.
Peeling potatoes in the sunny kitchen, Lydia watched Annette punch down a puffed lump of dough while humming. A streak of flour graced her chin, and beside her apron four perfect white fingerprints accented her colorful skirt. Her sweet expression and the wordless tune captivated Lydia.
"What is that song?" Lydia poured water over the potatoes and set the enormous kettle on the stove.
Annette glanced up from the loaves she shaped. "Hmm... 'My Grandfather's Clock.'"
"Are there words?"
"Yes, of course, but don't ask me to sing them. I'm not as musical as Jakob." She grinned and smeared lard in the corners of a pan with her fingers.
Embarrassed, Lydia bent and retrieved a potato peel from the floor.
A fe
w minutes before dinner, Emily arrived. She tied the baby into the high chair and set plates and forks on the table with a flourish.
The men arrived promptly and washed in turn at the kitchen sink. Last, Jakob slid onto the bench next to her.
"How was your mornin'?"
"Fine, danke. Yours?"
His eyebrows lifted at her courteous reply. "Mine was all right."
Franz jabbered to the baby, and Johann spoke to no one in particular about a stump he'd tried unsuccessfully to burn out.
"I helped fix the meal," Lydia said.
"Smells good." Their elbows bumped as they had at breakfast, when she'd tried to ignore his closeness. Now she had no choice but to look at him. He gave her an encouraging smile.
"You were up early this morning, Jakob." Franz's voice broke into their exchange. "Seems to me you might have taken the opportunity to sleep late. I'm sure no one would've minded."
Annette's look could have charred the bacon, but Franz ignored it. "Doesn't seem right for you to hurry off to do chores on your first morning as a married man."
Uncomfortable silence brought heat flooding into Lydia's cheeks. She was mortified at the attention drawn to them. Everyone's thoughts had surely turned to the newlyweds' intimacy on their wedding night. Was there any way they could know that nothing had happened? Of course not. And even if they all thought things had transpired as they should have, she didn't know which would be more embarrassing.
"Hard to break a morning habit," Jakob supplied easily.
"Jake?" Johann nodded at his youngest son.
Jakob caught her hand and bowed his head. "Lord, thank You for Your bounty on our table and in our hearts." He squeezed her fingers gently. "We're grateful for Your loving kindness. Bless the hands that fixed this food, and bless it to our bodies in Jesus' name. Amen."
Lydia looked at her husband. He released her hand and reached for the basket of rolls. Franz's teasing comments were politely ignored. The family gave their attention to the meal.
The manner in which this family prayed disturbed her. They addressed God in a relaxed manner and the next moment resumed conversation with someone else. In one light, the regularity of their table blessings pleased her, yet in another, their casual treatment seemed indifferent. What must God think of their prayers? What must He think of her sweeping along with them in their rush to move from one activity to the next?
She helped Emily clear the table while Annette heated water and filled a basin. Eventually Emily shooed her away. "There will be plenty of nights to do dishes. Go enjoy time with your new husband."
When she exited through the kitchen door, he stood from where he'd been waiting on the steps. Johann was seated in one of the chairs on the porch, but well out of hearing distance.
"Me and my brothers take some getting used to," he told her. "We all tease. Franz didn't mean to embarrass you."
She looked at him and then away.
He led her to the step and sat beside her. "What's on your mind?"
"Things move so quickly here. I feel as though I am always trying to catch up."
"I can see how you feel that way."
"Your family seems to think the hurry worthwhile. It gives you time in the evenings to simply do as you please, with no chores, no cooking or cleaning or laundry."
He nodded. "Time to relax after a day's work."
"I have believed since childhood that idle time gives Satan ground on which to stake his claim and work his wicked ways."
"I don't think God has a problem with us taking time to sit on our porch and enjoy the fruits of our labors, Lydia. The Bible says there's a time to weep, and a time to laugh as well as a time to mourn, and a time to dance. Seems like there's a time to work and a time to rest."
She looked over at him, not so much surprised he knew those verses, but surprised he knew how to apply them to his life. She had so much to think about and understand. She been confused and unsatisfied her whole life, sensing she was missing out on so much. Now here was this man teaching her new ways to look at God.
As they sat shoulder to shoulder, twilight fell over the landscape. "Let's go for a walk," he said at last.
Crickets chirped, and a favorable breeze tousled his hair and kissed her skirts. They strolled toward the pasture where Gunter and Freida grazed. Sensing Jakob, the pair approached and leaned their heads over the wooden fence in greeting. Jakob spoke softly, scrubbing their thick necks with his long fingers. He walked a short distance, picked up fruit under a tree and returned. He extended his palm, and Gunter greedily accepted the apple.
He pressed an apple into Lydia's hand. "Come on, she won't hurt you."
Reluctantly she held it, following his example. He offered Gunter another piece of fruit. His hand curled slightly around the apple, and the huge nose lowered, the enormous flexible lips curled upward. The horse's long teeth closed over the apple.
"Go on, try it."
The other horse waited patiently. Timidly Lydia raised her hand.
"Nice girl," she managed, her voice unsteady. Freida bobbed her enormous head once before lowering it, and Lydia jerked her hand back, the apple falling to the ground. Freida rooted along the bottom of the fence with her nose.
Jakob's hearty laugh eased her discomfort. She retrieved the apple, noted the animal's baleful brown eyes rolled in her direction, and gave it another try.
She was given no time for hesitancy. Her husband stepped behind her, cupped his hand under hers and lifted. Higher, higher, higher, until the proffered fruit had her hand in what seemed great jeopardy. Struggling against his strength was useless. She could only watch the ponderous head lower, the gigantic lips open, the teeth...
No sound escaped her lips. Freida's muzzle, amazingly soft and delicate, brushed her palm. The beast chewed a safe distance away, and Lydia's heart beat again. As her body relaxed against Jakob's, she grew aware of the exact opposite reaction in his. He lowered her arm, but kept her hand encased in his. He wrapped his other arm securely around her waist so that the entire length of her body molded against his.
It was an intimacy she'd never shared, that she'd never known people shared. An intimacy he had every right to as her husband. This, and more...
He eased his hold until, though she was still within his lenient embrace, she could move away any time she wished. Against her shoulder blade, his heart raced. She remembered the disturbing touch of his hand brushing her leg in the enveloping darkness of his bedroom, his hair-roughened thighs against her skin, the searing heat, and his undeniable silken hardness.
The memory embarrassed and intrigued her at the same time, and she realized she wasn't as afraid of him as she was of her reaction to him. Her heart swelled as it always did when he was close.
It seemed they stood that way endlessly, neither of them wanting to pull away first, until Freida came searching. The horse nuzzled the front of Lydia's dress, pushing her backward. Jakob steadied them both, and they stepped apart. He retrieved Freida's other treat and fed it to her.
"You're no lady," he chastised, though the horse crunched unconcernedly.
Lydia raised her brows, temporarily misunderstanding who he was speaking to.
His mind was elsewhere. "Someday soon," he said with conviction, "we're going to have our own house. We'll plan it together."
"Our own house?"
"You didn't think we all intended to live together forever, did you?"
She guessed she had. She wouldn't mind a house of their own, but leaving the security of a household with other wives would be another matter. She knew little about taking care of a household, and was afraid of failing Jakob. His expectations were lofty, and she didn't want him to regret bringing her here.
"Where will we move to?"
As if sensing her apprehension, he pointed in a westerly direction. "Only over the ridge. I'm not taking you far."
She looked at him, and then away.
"Don't you like the idea? We won't fit in one house with more children, yo
u know. You can help pick a spot for our house. I'll build it just the way you want it. What would you like?"
What would she like? Lydia raised her hand and pressed her fingertips against her lips girlishly. She couldn't remember having been asked that question. Her hand fell back to her side. "May I have a flower garden?"
He smiled and leaned from the waist to pluck a long stem of grass and stick it between his teeth. "Anything you want."
Her own home? It seemed too good to be true! She recognized the prosperity of the land he worked, but, divided among the Neubauer men, how far could their profits go? "Is not a house costly?"
"I've been saving, and I might take a job."
"A job!" Strolling across the meadow, she stopped in alarm. Jobs were in cities! "Where?"
"A railroad. There are steel bridges going up all over Pennsylvania. There's time to plan, so don't worry."
If he went away to work, would she go with him or stay here? He tried to make light, but a knot of apprehension settled in her belly. She would worry! The Neubauers didn't feel like family yet, and they would not take Jakob's place if he left. He was all she had. They barely knew one another, but already her security depended on him.
She was a fish trying to survive on dry land, and Jakob was her only means of survival. Suddenly she wanted him to need her as badly as she needed him. She lacked the instinct to know what she desired in their relationship, but the seed had been planted and she'd see it to fruition. The same intangible germ had inspired Grandmother to leave her parents and her assured life and cleave to her husband.
Whither thou goest... Lydia recalled her grandmother's frail voice reading from the Book of Ruth. If Jakob left, she wanted to go with him.
She turned guileless eyes on him, and Jakob caught his breath. She was beautiful, her delicate ivory skin the perfect foil for her rich, dark hair and eyes. Her expressions remained unguarded and charmingly youthful, enhancing her unique, naive appeal. Jakob experienced a primitive need to protect her, to wrap her in his arms and keep the world from touching her innocence.
Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01] Page 10