Ironically, it was he she needed protection from. She'd been safely cosseted, sheltered from this strange, overwhelming world until he'd pitched her into it headfirst.
A needle of guilt pricked, the thread of conscience weaving in and out of his desire. He struggled to snip the nagging sensation. A clean, feminine scent clung to her. The soft, enticing feel of her skin through her clothing intoxicated him. She was natural. Chaste. She was his wife.
He faced her. Her head fell back to keep his gaze. Taking her shoulders gently, he urged her toward him until their lips met with heart-stopping reverence. With an almost holy purpose, he tasted her, aroused further by the knowledge that he was the only man ever to relish her sweetness. He deepened the kiss, gentling her with light caresses on her upper back until she relaxed against his chest. He withdrew slightly, his lips nipping hers. His teeth touched her lip briefly. He tasted her with the tip of his tongue, kissed her in enticing nips to the corner of her mouth and back in patient chains.
Oh, how he wanted her. He was as intrigued as the first time he'd set eyes on her. More so. Now she was his wife. The title ignited his blood.
He lowered his caress to her spine. She slid her hands under his arms and seized his shoulder blades, clinging with unexpected response. Her touch through his clothing strengthened his passion. He loved her taste, the feel of her soft breasts pressed against his chest, the way she stood on the tips of her toes to avail herself of his mouth. Never had he wanted anything more than he wanted to peel her dress away and touch his face to her skin. Smell her flesh, taste it. She taxed every ounce of restraint to the limit. Instead, he severed the kiss, pressed her head against his chest and remembered to breathe.
He had known it would be like this.
She hadn't.
Beneath Lydia's ear, Jakob's heart pounded erratically, his breath unsteady. She loosened her grip on his back, realizing she'd clung to him to keep from folding to the ground.
His kiss was nothing like she'd anticipated. He gave to her unsparingly... lavishing... enriching... until she felt as pliable as dough. Her lips throbbed warm and wet. A languid sense of privation buzzed within her vitals, and she regretted that he'd stopped. If only she could have had this bubbling glow the night before....
Leaning away, Jakob took her face between his hands, his affectionate smile flooding her with additional warmth. He hugged her against his broad chest, then released her and took her hand. They walked, neither of them noticing the encroaching darkness. Fireflies dotted fields that would sparkle like the night sky in another hour.
Jakob spoke again of the house they would build together, his voice wistful, yet confident. His excitement about the layout and the building was contagious. "Tomorrow we'll ride over the ridge and map it out. What d'ya say?"
"I say... I say it is Sunday."
"We'll go after church." They turned back toward the farmhouse, where long rectangular spills of light streamed from the parlor windows.
"In Accord—" She stopped. Perhaps he was sick of her constant comparisons.
"Go ahead. I want to hear."
"In Accord there are three worship services on Sunday, and we spend the remainder of the day doing chores."
He swatted at a mosquito on his wrist. "The chores are always there. Sunday is a day of rest. During planting and harvesting we work every hour of light until the crops are in. But that's just one season."
A day of rest. However did they pass the time without a normal day's chores? "Different it is here, Jakob."
"I know. But different is just different, not bad."
She glanced up, still tasting him on her lips, remembering his length pressed along her back. So far, different wasn't bad at all.
That night Jakob came to bed in the darkness. "I haven't courted you properly," he said in that deep, mellow voice for her ears alone.
"Nein?"
"No."
"How does one court 'properly'?"
"Well—" he paused, as if considering "—a couple does a lot of hand holding and moonin'—"
"What is moonin'?"
"Staring into each other's eyes and sighin'."
That brought a giggle.
"And then they move on to kissin' and huggin'—"
"That we've done."
"Are you going to let me finish a sentence?"
She giggled again.
"Are you being coy?"
"I think not."
He laughed. "I think not, either—too. Which is it?" On top of the down tick, he found her hand, and threaded their fingers together. "By the time they get married, the couple knows each other. As well as they can without actually... being married. They get a chance to share likes and dreams."
"Jakob?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you not share dreams with me tonight?"
They lay side by side, hands clasped, talking into the darkness. "I guess I did. What about you? What've you dreamed about?"
Lydia took a relaxing breath. A Harmonist was not encouraged to dream. Thoughts other than the educational or vocational were unnecessary. Her father did the thinking and planning for the colony.
"Come on, didn't you ever want a handsome prince on his trusty steed to carry you off?" he teased. "Or did you imagine finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?"
"That is ludicrous. A rainbow has no beginning or end. It is not physical, but a reflection."
Silence.
"Jakob?"
"You've got me there."
"Where?" His laughter was a deep baritone rumble that brought a smile to her lips. "What is so funny?"
"You." His hand tightened on hers, and the mattress dipped dangerously, rolling her toward him. He wrapped her shoulder in his arm and pulled her against his softly matted chest.
Lydia inhaled his clean male scent. Did her lack of common knowledge actually amuse him? Living in Accord, she sensed she had she missed out on something other women, women like Annette and—and Sylvie—inherently knew.
"A dream is something you've always, always wanted. Isn't there something?" His deep whisper rasped behind her ear.
She closed her eyes, and a shiver rippled up her spine. Of course there was something she had always, always wanted—one of the reasons she had chosen to marry him and leave her family. "Ja. There is something."
"What?"
"A baby."
Chapter 10
His breath caught. Under her ear, his heart thrust instinctively. His hand on her shoulder caressed gently. "I want children, too, Lydia."
"Ja." Strength radiated from his arms and chest, and she remembered him carrying her from the burning bakery, knew the ease with which he could lift her from a wagon or force her hand to a horse's mouth. She recalled him tall and agile, dodging the Mosch Balle during the game, scoffing at the idea that a blow from the ball was painful. She recognized the controlled strength within the gentle man, and knew he could take her if he chose. She knew, too, that she wouldn't resist if he did. Wished, in fact, that he would.
He didn't.
He stroked her shoulder through her nightdress, snuggled her close and left her wondering.
The next morning's worship service consisted of a congregational confession, words of inspiration from Reverend Mercer and singing. Oh, the enthusiasm with which these people sang did her heart good. Most of the hymns were familiar, and those that weren't were easy to follow in the hymnal Jakob held. She stood or sat at his side, whichever the service called for, and heartily joined in. On the high notes, when others backed off, heads turned at the spine-tingling volume coming from the otherwise inconspicuous young woman. Jakob smiled proudly and held her hand.
At dinner he sat with his thigh pressed significantly against hers.
"These are delicious! What are they?" Franz took an extra helping of the side dish, a buttered cross between noodles and dumplings.
"Spatzle," Lydia replied.
"Don't recall ever havin' 'em before." Johann took the bowl from Franz. "Sure are
tasty, fraulein."
The others murmured agreement.
Lydia blushed under the family's compliments, at last hopeful that she might fit in. "Danke."
Jakob winked at her.
"You know what they say," Franz said with that teasing glimmer in his eye. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."
His words confused Lydia, and she glanced from person to person. Most were smiling, except Emily. She lowered her head and looked decidedly uncomfortable.
"Don't pay attention to my ornery husband," Annette advised Lydia after the men retired to the front parlor. "Once he learns he can't get your goat, he'll back off with the teasing."
Lydia balanced a stack of plates on the table's edge. "I don't have a goat."
"Ach! I always forget. I mean, get you riled. Get a reaction."
"Why do the men tease?"
Annette glanced at Emily. "Why do you think the men are such merciless teases?"
"I'm not sure."
"They teased Emily when she first arrived too."
"They did?"
"If Franz disturbs you, I will have a talk with him."
"No. I don't want to be treated differently."
"They all like you," Emily added.
Annette nodded. "Women simply communicate. Men work side by side and talk about the weather and the stock or rib each other. It's just their form of friendly communication, I guess."
"I see."
"You're catching on." Annette gave Lydia a tender look before rapidly shaving off a chunk of acrid-smelling soap into the pan of hot water. "Let's hurry with these. Franz promised me a trip to my sister's this afternoon, and I don't mean to miss a minute of it."
Lydia carried the scraps to the chickens.
Jakob hailed her on her return to the house. "Are you ready to go?"
"Go?"
"To see our house. Or do you have something pressing to do?" He quirked a sandy brow.
"No. I mean, ja! I will be ready in a moment."
Minutes later, she waited on the wide drive from the barn, enjoying the frivolous shadow of her yellow parasol as she twirled it. The sound of hooves approached. She turned, seeing her husband astride Freida.
"Where is the wagon?"
"Franz and Annette are taking it to her sister's."
"How will we travel?"
He patted the folded blanket behind the saddle. The makeshift seat seemed a great distance from the ground. "You want me to ride up there... on the horse with you?"
"Got any other suggestions?" Guiding the reins to one side, he walked Freida to the porch. "C'mon. Climb up here and get on behind me. I know you can balance on a porch rail. This isn't so much higher."
His eyes, shadowed by his hat's brim, teased her daringly. She looked from his face down the drive and back, considering how badly she wanted to go.
Hesitantly she climbed the porch steps. She stared Freida in the eye for a full minute. The horse seemed to size her up in return.
Jakob stifled a chuckle.
Resolutely she collapsed the yellow parasol and handed it up to him. From a chair she stepped onto the railing, balancing against a column. Taking Jakob's hand, she used her other hand to gather her skirt. Throwing her leg over Freida's back, she landed clumsily behind him. He steadied her with one hand and soothed the animal sidestepping uneasily beneath them. Lydia wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging to him while he spoke to her in the same calming voice he used with the horse.
"That's not so bad, eh? You'll get used to it."
It wasn't so bad after all. The horse carried them both effortlessly, covering ground with an easy gait. She had an excuse to wrap her arms tightly around Jakob, to discover his incredibly muscular torso and smell his clean hair and clothing. Once he glanced down and covered her hand with his, and happiness inflated her heart, bringing a smile to her lips.
A quarter-mile west, they came to a grassy clearing, bordered on the south by a natural windbreak of pyramid-shaped hemlock. Here and there, stately maples dotted the landscape. Jakob tied the horse to one and helped her down. His hat swept the scene in a proud arc. "What d'you think?"
"It is lovely!" Her thighs sore from the ride, she barely managed to keep up with his long-legged stride across the level ground. "Where is the house?"
"About here, with a well there. A stream runs right back of those trees."
"And the garden?"
"There. Full sun all day."
"And a flower garden I'll plant along the entire side of the house. The chickens will have to stay in their pen."
He caught her against his chest and hugged her soundly. "I'm sure you'll keep the chickens in line."
Leaning back, she looked up into his vibrant blue eyes and appreciated the enthusiasm they'd just shared. She wanted to share more with him... so much more... if only he'd let her. "It's a beautiful place for a home."
"I've been here a hundred times, but it's never looked as good as it does today. It's beautiful because you're beautiful."
"You are teasing me again?"
He squeezed her shoulder. "Lydia! You're beautiful! You were the prettiest woman in church this mornin'."
Frowning, she pulled from his embrace. Her father's accusing words reminded her that he believed Jakob to be motivated by lust. An unfamiliar warmth pooled inside her. Dark, hot thoughts of her sensitized skin brought a quivering burst of pleasure. As good as Jakob made her feel, was it right to encourage his preoccupation with her? How vain she was to enjoy his flattery. "It is not important what we look like. All that matters to God is on the inside."
Allowing her to wander away from him, Jakob plopped down in the shade of one of his maples. "Like a potato, eh? Not much to look at on the outside, but they sure taste good when you're hungry."
She smoothed her skirts and sat near him. "Now I know you are teasing me."
"Am I? Maybe I'm just hungry." He pretended to take bites from her ear and jaw, and she laughed, then pressed her palms against his shoulders to push him back. No match for his strength, she tumbled to a reclining position on the soft grass. Jakob's healthy, sun-kissed face loomed over her, the maples' silvery green underleaves forming a sun-dappled canopy above his golden head. The laughter died in her breast.
His eyes rested on her parted lips. "Are you saying you would've married me if I was a toothless, leathery old critter with squinty eyes?"
She watched his mouth as he spoke. Instinctively she sensed underlying desire tugging them together like a magnet. There was something almost wicked about Jakob's mouth. Something dark and mysterious, and completely intriguing.
She was afraid he wouldn't kiss her. "There is nothing wrong with squinty eyes."
He moved toward her and kissed her eyelids, her brows and her temples. Her heart pounded so fast the leaves were a silver green blur above his head. His lips touched hers in a feather-light brush.
A thousand fireflies fluttered against her ribs.
"I'm... glad... you're... not... toothless," he said, punctuating each word with a kiss. "How would you eat Annie's bread?"
The smile she almost formed was cut off by a kiss burned against her lips. Slanting his mouth over hers, he adjusted his weight on an elbow and framed her jaw with his hand.
Sensing her hand at his side, he lifted and spread her palm against the side of his face. Her fingertips caressed his lean jaw, his coarse sideburns and his amazingly soft earlobes.
"Oh, Lydia..." He pulled his mouth from hers and dropped his face into the hollow of her neck. Minutes later, he kissed her prim collar and rolled onto his back, folded his hands behind his head and gazed up into the arching branches. Beside him she sat and tucked stray wisps of hair under her white cap. What was he afraid of?
Last night he'd savored the delicate lavender scent of her hair against his face, stroked the diminutive bones beneath the warm satin skin of her shoulder and recalled the many nights he'd gone to his room alone while his brothers took their wives to the rooms they shared. He'd known
a deep satisfaction. He wasn't alone anymore, and last night that had been enough.
Now he didn't think he'd ever get enough of her. But he was afraid. Much as he'd tried to dislodge the sapling of uncertainty Etham Beker had planted, it had taken root. Lydia's incredible naiveté, her unsophisticated outlook and her fresh delight in simple things, reminded him of her innocence at every turn.
He knew what he feared—she would be meek and yielding, because it was her character, but she would be disgusted, as her father prophesied. Jakob had hoped and dreamed and planned for marriage for as long as he could remember. Dreams of a house and family were based on their compatibility.
"Lydia..." he began.
Her forthright gaze met his.
"You need time to trust me. Time to feel comfortable." Even though allowing her that time was frustrating him beyond endurance.
"I trust you, Jakob."
"I guess you do." She'd come with him, after all. "But I don't want to frighten you."
Their gaiety evaporated in the sunshine like dew on a hot morning. Both of them watched Freida cropping grass, lost in their own concerns.
He felt her touch his hand and turned it over to envelop hers. At last he stood and pulled her to her feet. "Time for milking."
A cool breeze graced the Neubauers', fluttering the sheer curtains at the long windows. The front parlor was full that evening. More and more Lydia understood the worth of the weekly rush to get through chores and have this time to spend as they chose. The family gathered in the cluttered room, the men taking turns playing a game with black and red wooden markers on a checkered board of the same colors.
Franz stacked wooden blocks on the floor with Nikolaus. She thought of her family doing ordinary things and wondered if Grandmother missed her. Did Rachael milk the cow in the morning? Nathan wouldn't let the flower beds go untended.
Annette sat near a lantern, crocheting a lace edge on a pillowcase. "Play for us, Jakob. Nikolaus, want to hear Uncle Jake play?"
The baby nodded his fair head. Jakob opened a case and withdrew his fiddle.
He played tune after tune, while Nikolaus bobbed and jumped, taking turns pat-a-caking with whoever struck his fancy. Johann picked him up and executed some fancy steps. Smiling, Lydia glanced at the happy faces surrounding her.
Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01] Page 11