Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01]

by Heaven Can Wait

  Then she saw Emily.

  She'd worn the deep burgundy dress with puffed sleeves to church, and hadn't changed into work clothes like the others. The neckline left her pale collarbone and chest bare. Around her neck she wore a band of velvet, with a round piece of jewelry fastened at her throat. She wore her fair hair swept into a faultless coiffure under which Lydia knew nested "rats."

  But it was Emily's emerald eyes that caught and held Lydia's attention. They flitted from one person to another in a hungry manner, as if she needed to fill herself with their faces and actions. The most unvarnished look was the one she gave her husband. There was so much yearning in that look, a familiar yearning Lydia knew well. But Emily's seemed to hold an edge of desperation.

  Emily's gaze flickered to Lydia, and a mask dropped over her features. She tilted her chin and smiled, but not before Lydia had seen anguished emotion.

  Jakob replaced his instrument, and Annette hurried to make coffee. Lydia followed.

  Pumping water into the metal pot, Annette sighed. "I guess we'll have the muffins left over from dinner with our coffee. Everyone has to be getting sick of the same old things. I know I am."

  "I don't know how to do as many things as you, but I am willing to help."

  "You've been a blessing in the kitchen already. Maybe between the two of us we can experiment with some of the dried apples from last year. It's such a waste to ruin them that I quit trying. Soon the peaches will be ripe."

  "What about Emily? She doesn't want to help?"

  "I've tried to draw her in, but I don't want to seem as though I'm nagging. She does a few things around the kitchen, like cleaning up sometimes, but if I make any sort of suggestion, I sense she's offended. So I leave her be."

  "I can bakeGefullte Krapfen orApfelkuchlen. Or do the men likeApfelbettelmann?"

  Annette set the pot on the step-stove. "What are they?"

  "Tartlets."

  She listened as Lydia described cookies and a fluffy baked apple dish and smiled broadly. "Oh, Lydia, that would be wonderful. I'm ashamed to say I never developed much skill at baking. My mother gave up and warned me not to marry a man with a sweet tooth."

  Lydia regarded her curiously.

  Annette laughed. "A craving for sweets."

  Serving coffee and muffins in the parlor, Annette handed a cup of steaming liquid to Jakob. "What an excellent choice you made. Your wife can bake!"

  Every male voice responded with appreciation.

  "We know why he chose you, Lydia," Franz said with a teasing wink. "He couldn't choke down another dry muffin."

  His wife ignored the taunt and sat beside him with a swish of her skirt. She slapped her hands on her knees. "You have a niche in this household, Lydia. If your pies are any indication, I can't wait to sample the rest. Tomorrow morning the bread making is all yours."

  Franz and Anton hooted their approval.

  Embarrassed, Lydia scanned their jovial expressions. Everyone smiled but Emily, her look of inadequacy plain.

  "I'm sure you had more reasons for marryin' her than that, didn't you, Jake?" Anton lifted Nikolaus onto his lap. To the others he said, "He's lovestruck."

  Anton batted his lashes and rolled his eyes comically, and Annette bit back a laugh. "He doesn't hear us when we talk to him. He forgets things. The other day he walked out of the barn and tripped over the skid he left there himself! His mind is for sure not on chores, and I think—"

  "Nobody cares what you think, Anton," Jakob said, interrupting him. "You told me you were going to use that skid to move barrels, so I figured you'd taken it."

  "You weren't listening, 'cause I told you I had to..." Anton's voice carried on, and Lydia realized Jakob wasn't amused. She glanced at Johann, but read no alarm on his face.

  Jakob leaned forward on the small sofa. "Well, you know," he returned, "when you're looking for stuck cows, it helps to search where the mud is. That cow would've been standing up to her rump if I hadn't started on your quarter. Where'd you think she'd be? Up a tree?"

  "Boys, don't get into this right now," Annette told them calmingly.

  Neither of them paid her any heed.

  "I swear, Jake, you're so damned touchy, I think you're brain's addled. What've you done to him?" Anton asked of Lydia, an accusing finger pointed at his brother.

  "Leave her out of it." Jakob stood. "In fact... leave me out of it!" He stalked out the front door, the screen slamming in his wake.

  Lydia stared after him, stupefied.

  Franz helped his wife collect cups and plates. Together they disappeared into the kitchen.

  A moment later Emily scooped up Nikolaus and hurried up the stairs, Anton following. Lydia had looked like a frightened rabbit when Jakob and Anton shouted at each other. Emily had learned long ago that their bickering meant nothing. Any attempt to take a side during an argument brought out their fierce loyalty. They could say anything about one another, but heaven help anyone who got in the middle.

  She dressed Nikolaus in his flannel pajamas and pulled him into her lap in the rocking chair.

  "He should go to bed earlier, Emily."

  "I like to have him with us. It comforts me."

  "What do you need comforting from? Sometimes I wonder if you use him so you don't have to be with me."

  She rocked and hummed. "That couldn't be further from the truth. Sometimes I feel lonely."

  "There's a whole house full of people here, Emily. No need to feel alone."

  "They don't like me."

  "Of course they like you."

  "Already they like Lydia better because she can bake bread and pies."

  "Annette can't make a decent loaf of bread and she is loved. It has nothing to do with baking. I don't think you've tried to make friends."

  He studied her rocking his son. Her green eyes shimmered with tears. He slept with her each night, woke beside her each morning, had created a child with her, but he'd never really known her.

  "Are you sorry you brought me here?" she asked, cutting into his thoughts.

  He shook his head. "Of course not."

  "Because you have your son?"

  "Of course I wanted children, Emily. But I wanted a wife too." I wanted you. A hundred years ago, when I still had hope. I wanted a woman to love, a woman to love me. Someone to share this life with. I just don't know how to please you. "I'm not sorry I brought you here or that I married you."

  She rocked the chair, but she didn't meet his eyes. His assurance wasn't enough, but the last few times he'd touched her, she'd seemed preoccupied. Now any kind of overture would feel forced.

  Anton grabbed a dime novel from his dresser and fell back on the bed.

  A star winked accusingly at Jakob as he stood at the corner of the old cabin behind the house. Okay, he'd let his brother's teasing get to him. He was human. He'd overreacted. But how much strain could a man handle? He'd been holding back for days now. Weeks. Years!

  He'd waited an eternity for a wife. He'd been patient. Tolerant. Gentle.

  He didn't know how many more days and nights he could endure. Was he trying to prove something by restraining his desire for Lydia? Was he showing her how patient and sincere he was? Or was he trying to prove to himself that her father was wrong? He'd desired her from the first. He found her attractive and desirable. He couldn't think of anything on God's green earth wrong with that. He'd waited for her. He'd married her. A man couldn't be much more honorable.

  Unseeing, he passed the outbuildings, leaned against a gnarled oak and gazed across the backyard toward the house. Lovely Lydia. Innocent. Responsive to him.

  A wife was a heady responsibility. A responsible husband would wait. He'd taken her away from her family and security. He didn't have the right to take her freedom of choice away, too. But he wanted her more with each day. The longing and frustration tore him in two. It would be easy to take her. She'd made it plain she wouldn't resist.

  But he didn't want her that way, didn't want to merely appease his own desire w
ithout thought for hers. If her father was right, he couldn't bear her rejection.

  Somehow he would wait. He had to.

  Johann rocked in his chair.

  Uncertain of what to do, Lydia turned huge eyes upon her father-in-law. "Shall I go to him?"

  "Naw. Let him stew awhile, and don't look so all-fired scared. These boys of mine been fightin' worse 'n that for twenty-odd years, and nothin's gonna change long as they're livin' together. Brothers get into a ruckus now and then. It's nothin' to fret over, Lydia."

  It must be all right, if he wasn't worried. She nodded.

  "What does your family do of an evenin'?"

  She drew a deep breath. "After the worship service, there are chores. The children do school lessons, and if there's time after that we read our Bibles."

  "You too tired to do that now?"

  Surprised, she shook her head. He searched a cluttered desk and returned with a Bible, its leather binding as well-worn as her father's. Lydia scooted across the love seat and sat near his rocker.

  He patted the Book's cover. "It was Wilhelmina's."

  "Jakob's mother's?"

  "Ja."

  "What was she like?"

  Faded blue eyes met hers. "Schon," he said at last, remembering. "Beautiful. Small... lively... and her eyes were the color of the mornin' sky on a frosty day."

  Johann gazed as though he saw her at that very moment. "She gave me beautiful children. Sons. All sons."

  Lydia considered these men who placed such importance on physical beauty. "Was she young when she died?"

  "Ja. Jakob was only ten when she died of the fever. Anton had it, too, but he was stronger, and pulled through." He rocked slowly. "She was so young... it seems like those years went by faster than the years since she's been gone." He glanced at her and shrugged. "Doesn't seem fair, does it, that it couldn't of been the other way 'round?"

  Quick tears welled in her eyes. He had loved his wife very much.

  Realization struck Lydia, and she sat straighter on the sofa. His conversation had been in an unfamiliar dialect, but close enough that she'd understood. "You speak German!"

  His still-handsome face smiled easily, weathered lines creasing his cheeks. "It's good to have someone to use it with. My folks spoke German always. Wilhelmina knew 'nough to get her by, but her family spoke the language of the new country at home, so our boys didn't learn much." He opened his Bible to the Book of Psalms. "Next time we'll read from yours. I hope it's German?"

  Lydia smiled and nodded. A familial warmth spread through her heart. For the first time since coming to live with the Neubauers, she felt a sense of belonging. The only person who'd ever put her more at ease was Grandmother.

  God had answered a prayer. Perhaps He didn't look at her marriage with disfavor after all.

  Chapter 11

  Lydia stood barefoot in front of the washstand, wearing her long white cotton underslip. She studied her reflection in the mirror. God hadn't taken away her feelings for Jakob. He'd given her a friend.

  She thought of Jakob somewhere outdoors, perhaps in the barn, drawing comfort from the warmth and familiarity of the horses, instead of coming to her. A primitive instinct told her that his edginess was due to her failure to overcome this physical obstacle. She was failing him.

  She'd been incompetent in every area of their marriage so far. She couldn't cook or sew or dance. She hadn't even known what his dog was, for heaven's sake! What had she done right? She remembered the length of his body against hers, the rasp of his hair-roughened skin—so different from hers—and a languid warmth pooled in her abdomen. He wanted her. She knew it intuitively.

  Absently Lydia drew the brush through her hair and divided the length into sections. She met her own troubled gaze. This must be the thing she could do to please him. It was her wifely duty.

  Jakob entered the room. He didn't ignore her partial state of undress. After carefully avoiding her for days, he studied her. His gaze lifted and met hers in the mirror. He gave her a crooked smile.

  She dropped the thick plait against her breast and watched him back up against the wall and remove his boots. He straightened and unbuttoned his shirt.

  He dropped the shirt. "Why do you do that?"

  She stopped wrapping the tie around the end of her braid. "Do what?"

  "Weave your hair in that rope to sleep."

  "I have always worn it this way. My mother and grandmother wear theirs this way. My sisters, too."

  "Family tradition, hmm?" As was his habit, he carried the lantern from the top of his chiffonier and placed it on the washstand. He stood so near, she smelled woodsmoke in his hair. His anger seemed to have disappeared. He reached for the front of her slip, and she froze, fingertips gripping the wash-stand. He lifted the braid into his palm.

  In the mirror she watched breathlessly as he held the plait of hair, measuring its length, stroking it with his thumb. With his other hand, he unraveled the piece of fabric she hadn't tied. He ran long fingers through her hair, a section at a time, higher and higher. Stepping behind her back, he loosened the hair at her nape, his fingers massaging her scalp, working out tension. When her hair had been freed, he speared his fingers to her scalp, spreading the dark tresses over her shoulders like a silken cape.

  "I've wanted to see you like this." His black-velvet whisper sent her heart skittering in her breast like a wild bird. Their eyes met in the reflection—hers self-conscious, vulnerable, his somber, resolute. Strong hands continued stroking, contouring her shape through her hair, caressing her back, kneading her shoulders and neck. Languid contentment oozed through every cell of her being. She'd been deprived of human touch her entire life, and now she reveled in the honest pleasure.

  He pulled her back against his length, and she closed her eyes. His rigid stance warmed her from her knees to her shoulders, and an apprehensive trembling began in her stomach and flowed outward until she feared her legs would refuse to support her. "Jakob."

  "Hmm?" he murmured through the hair behind her ear.

  A shiver rippled across her shoulder and down her arm. His warm breath tilted her world on its axis.

  Jakob's heady attack on her senses increased her resolve with an almost frightening passion. He desired her. He'd chosen her over any other woman. She tamped down a sprouting of guilt that she should feel such pride. She would not let him down. "Will you kiss me?"

  His hands stilled on her shoulders. His patience was worn beyond endurance. He didn't know if he could kiss her without wanting more. The texture of her fragrant hair, the scent of her skin, the feel of her woman-soft frame, assaulted his senses and inflamed his body. Holding back was the most exquisite torture he'd ever known.

  She faced him. "Jakob?"

  "Lydia, I don't know if it's such a good idea, what with you standing here like that, and—"

  "Don't you want to kiss me?"

  An internal flame lit his blue eyes. "I want to kiss you. And a whole lot more."

  "Let's find out. Let me do this. For both of us."

  His heart thundered. Though determined to wait, he'd come to her already inflamed, wanting. Her words intensified his desire painfully. Once he started, he knew, he'd never stop. "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  Jakob's pulse throbbed everywhere.

  "Bitte."

  The word was a solid punch to his gut. Please. He framed her face with his palms, spearing the hair at her temples with his fingers, and turned her face up to his.

  She was his wife. She wanted him. He owed it to both of them to seal the vows they'd made, to discover the wonder of how marvelously they were created man and woman, to place the uncertainty and anxiety behind them so that they could work on other aspects of their relationship.

  He kissed her with a passion that only hinted at the desire he'd held in check for so long. She slid her fingers inside his gaping shirt and flattened her palms against his bare chest. His skin quivered at her glorious touch.

  With an impatient shrug,
he slid out of his shirt and blew out the lantern.

  Ignoring the fact that she hadn't finished undressing for bed, he tugged her restrictive underslip over her head. The stitches popped in the seams. Her satin skin sparked a flame beneath a mountain of kindling. He pressed himself against her long-limbed body, the tiny noise she made tearing at his gut and inflaming his desire at the same time. Her father's oppressive warnings loomed, but Jakob banished them from his mind, from his body.

  He wasn't sure which of them led the other to the bed. Jakob removed his denims and pressed her against the soft mattress. "I've waited so long for you, Lydia."

  She was soft, intoxicating. He needed her more than he needed to breathe. He kissed her mouth, hungry and urgent. Her hip was firm, slender. He caressed it, savoring the texture of her skin—softer than a newborn calf, softer than a baby chick. A shudder passed through her.

  He was on fire. The scent of her body, the gasp in his ear, propelled him over the edge. She cried out when he filled her, and the sound brought him both pleasure and pain.

  Jakob strove to purge himself, to drive her father from their bed and end her anguish quickly. She felt better than good. She felt wonderful—soft, warm, exquisitely tight and enveloping—and he'd waited so long. He hurtled toward an inescapable peak and, with a convulsive groan, clenched a fistful of silken hair and pressed his face hard against her jaw.

  He shuddered and rolled to her side, his heart thudding against her shoulder. Too quickly, his thoughts cleared and focused. Oh, now what did she think? Had he been clumsy? Probably. Had he hurt her? Obviously. Would she regret her quick decision to marry him? He desperately hoped not. "I'm sorry."

  A clumsy silence enveloped them.

  "Jakob?"

  "What?" His voice was a rasp.

  "Will I have a baby?"

  He groaned again, this time at her ignorance. Did she think that was it? She'd suffered the indignity and earned the reward? "I'm sorry to tell you it's not that easy. It can take a lot of times."

  "Oh."

  The silence of the house buzzed in his ears. Through the open window, a cow bellowed for her calf. "Jakob?"