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Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01]

Page 13

by Heaven Can Wait


  What now? "What?"

  "I didn't find you unacceptable."

  A painful lump swelled in his throat and refused to go up or down. She'd remembered his confession that first night. His fear. Unconvinced, he squeezed his eyes shut against the self-condemnation swelling in every cell and tissue of his traitorous body.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing it wasn't enough, wishing he'd known how to make it better for her.

  Later, he wondered how she could sleep. In abandonment, her hair fanned his pillow like a sleek skein. The first light of day cast its gray illumination, and he awakened after what seemed only minutes of rest. He turned, the stubble on his chin catching strands of her hair. He fingered the tresses, cool satin beneath his fingertips. She lay on her side, facing him, her hand curled palm up between them. One long strand of hair had fallen across her face and caught on her barely parted lips. Her skin was pink with the warmth of slumber, and her breathing was even and shallow. She was so young. So vulnerable. So utterly desirable.

  She belonged to him. He knew at last the bliss of a man and woman's joining. And the knowledge only made him want her more. But what of her? What was her reaction?

  His own selfish desires had taken her from her home, and placed her in a culture she knew nothing about. He couldn't hope to replace her family and their comfortable life. He didn't have the right to push himself on her, too. She'd done it to please him, he knew that, and he'd been so eager to hear her suggestion, he'd needed little encouragement. How unfair that she had to suffer in order to fulfill the most sacred act of marriage. In order to get a baby.

  The thought of her carrying his child made him hard and ready all over again. Guiltily the groom pushed his weight from the bed and stood, watching his bride sleep. He was gone before the first rooster crowed.

  A whirlwind of bustling energy, Annette packed a basket with jars of vegetables, a tin of muffins and a baked chicken. "I'll be gone all morning," she said to Lydia, who watched from the sink. "Bitsy McKenna has been bedridden, and has no daughters to do chores. I'd like to stay and put things right, if you don't mind getting dinner alone."

  "I'll take care of everything."

  "Well, then," she said, glancing around, "I'll be off." She plucked her slat bonnet from the rack of hooks on her way out the back door.

  Lydia boiled water and carried the heavy kettles to the washtub on the back porch. Shaving lye soap into the water, she swished it with a stick and refilled the kettles for the next tubful. A handful of garments went into the tub, the heavy lid was fastened down and she maneuvered the long wooden handle, working the paddle inside the tub.

  Challenged by the task, Lydia worked the stick back and forth, back and forth. She would be proud to accomplish the task well and know that she was capable of assuming her share of the workload. Her arms ached into her shoulders and back as she fed each piece through the wringer and began again. The endless task left plenty of time for her thoughts to wander, remembering every detail of the night before. Her own fear and bewilderment... and then...

  The perfect sense it had made.

  How wonderfully she had been created in order to accommodate her strapping husband! Yes, it had hurt at first, as Grandmother had promised, but not for long...

  She remembered the tension, the solid strength of his powerful body, and excitement bolted through her. Was pride at his uncontrolled desire for her sinful? The aspect of marriage she had been resigned to in order for God to give them children no longer seemed unpleasant.

  Along with the sense of wonder billowed confusion over Jakob's reaction. He was sorry. What was the cause of his regret? What was there to forgive? In her ignorance, she had missed something important, something he understood and with which he was displeased.

  Belatedly she thought of the satin sheet folded neatly in the truck at the foot of the bed, and was relieved to launder the sheets in private.

  She lugged the baskets of clothing and bedding to the line and hung them. Perspiration ran from under her wilted cap. Dampness circled under her arms. Her apron and dress were soaked to her skin when she encountered Emily at the kitchen door. She appeared cool and fresh, golden hair hanging in waves to her shoulders.

  Emily assessed Lydia's flushed face, the smudges of stove ash on her cheek. She'd been humming to herself all morning.

  The sounds coming from their room last night had cost her a night's sleep. She had lain awake in the darkness beside Anton, pretending not to hear, wishing she had a pure and blameless background like Lydia's. Wishing she could somehow change things between them.

  "I just settled Nikolaus for a nap. Would you care to take a cup of tea with me?"

  Lydia couldn't hide her surprise. She followed Emily into the cool kitchen and melted onto a chair. "Danke."

  "Sugar?"

  "Please. I haven't had tea since I arrived."

  "These men like their black coffee, and we do seem to cater to their wishes, don't we? I keep a tin in the pantry. Help yourself whenever you'd like."

  "Danke—thank you."

  "Why do you always wear your cap?" the other woman asked as they sipped their tea.

  "It's the custom in the community I come from."

  "Does Jakob like it?"

  She hadn't considered what he thought of her cap, though she knew her dresses were not as becoming as the other women's. "I don't know." She considered herself an embarrassment. "Does it make me look different?"

  "Well, it does set you apart. Men like to see a woman's hair. It's one of our feminine attractions."

  "Ja." Absently Lydia massaged her sore shoulder, feeling the ache all the way down her spine. "You always look beautiful. I thought so from the first time I saw you in the bakery. You were wearing a pink dress. I thought I'd never seen anyone so lovely."

  "That's kind of you to say." She wished Anton thought as highly of her beauty. "Could I see your hair?" Emily scanned Lydia's cap assessingly. Lydia removed it and sat straighter as Emily came around the table. "It's lovely," she crooned, her voice as sweet as the tea. "All you need is to learn to arrange it more fashionably, and it would look quite nice."

  Emily always looked elegant and feminine, and if she was willing to make friends, Lydia was certainly more than ready. "Will you show me?"

  "Sure. Let's run upstairs."

  Lydia followed.

  Emily's and Anton's room was infinitely tidier and better organized than Annette's and Franz's. There wasn't a speck of dust or an item out of place. Even the crisp white curtains at the windows seemed immune to rustling by the late-morning breeze. Emily pointed out Nikolaus, sleeping in the cast-iron crib, and sat Lydia down at her methodically arranged dressing table. She plucked the pins from Lydia's hair, and it fell in lustrous waves.

  "First of all," she instructed in a quiet voice, "you must learn to save hair to make rats."

  "I know about rats."

  Emily took her own brush and pulled it through Lydia's hair. It felt wonderful—the bristles against her scalp, another person's skillful touch.... Lydia's eyes drifted shut.

  Emily experimented with a few styles, none of them pleasing her. With a finger under her chin, she studied Lydia. "I don't know," she said, disappointment in her voice. "It's too long and heavy to work with. Mine is shorter."

  "Perhaps if mine were cut..." Lydia wondered aloud. She considered her reflection doubtfully.

  "The latest styles are fashionably shorter," Emily replied. The ladies in Pittsburgh wear theirs like mine."

  Lydia knew she looked different from the Outsiders. Even her speech set her apart. Here with the Neubauers, she was the Outsider. If she fit in better, perhaps Jakob would be more pleased. "Do it."

  "Are you sure?"

  The deciding factor was the pleasure she imagined on his face when he saw her looking more like the women he was accustomed to. He would be happy that she was adjusting more and more to his world. "I'm sure."

  A long time later, discarded lengths of hair lying on the floor ar
ound them, Emily curled a dark tendril around her finger and let it spring back against Lydia's temple.

  Lydia met her eyes in the mirror.

  "Are you pleased?" Emily asked.

  "I hope Jakob likes it."

  "Marriage is a complicated business. I confess I'm confused about my role all the time."

  "Confused?"

  Emily leaned back against the dressing table. "What do men really expect from a wife? They marry respectable women and then seduce them. I don't know if respectable women are supposed to enjoy seduction or not."

  Lydia's mind screamed silently, fearing what Emily might say or ask. Her chest constricted.

  Was that why Jakob had been sorry about last night? She had no idea what her response should have been. Dare she ask?

  Her mind reeled at the implications of what Emily had said. Sounds of the team came from the drive. Men's voices floated through the open windows. Lydia's gaze met Emily's in the mirror. Her heart slammed into her throat.

  "Oh! I haven't prepared dinner!" In horror, she ran from the room, nearly tripping on the stairs before reaching the kitchen in a panic. She searched the pantry for the quickest thing she could put together. Voices in the side yard increased her alarm.

  Franz was washing at the sink when she returned to the kitchen with a cured ham.

  Jakob entered the room.

  Ten feet apart, he and Lydia regarded one another. He barely surveyed her rumpled, stained gray dress. What caught his attention was her hair, unbound. She wasn't wearing the cap she was never without. He took a hesitant step closer. The soft arrangement of hair seemed out of character, incongruous with the unkempt condition of her dress. Another step, and a sick, sinking grief pierced his hungry belly. Hair that had once hung to her hips now barely reached past her shoulders. She had cut it!

  "Your hair..."

  She gripped the ham with white knuckles.

  "What have you done to your hair?"

  "I cut it. Do you like it?" She placed the ham on the table.

  Ashamed, Jakob couldn't have felt more pain if she'd kicked his heart. Her hair. Her lovely, sensuous hair. "I wish you hadn't felt you had to do it." He hardened his expression to cover the hurt, and moved to the sink.

  Jakob ate sullenly, refusing to look at Lydia. All morning he'd thought of nothing but the night before. Even now, with his brothers scattered around him, he experienced a quickening in his abdomen when he indulged in thoughts of her marvelous dark hair spilling around her slender shoulders. The scent, the texture and the sight were stimulants, inflaming him beyond reason. No, he probably hadn't the finesse to understand how to make love to a woman. He'd undoubtedly been clumsy and unskilled. And she...

  She had been so repulsed, she'd chosen to rid herself of the catalyst that had pushed him over the edge.

  Jakob kept his eyes on his plate, not joining in the stilted conversation. Lydia picked at a slice of ham. The dark scowl on her husband's ordinarily pleasant face frightened her. His displeasure deflated another bubble of hope. Perhaps she would never know how to please him. How to fit in.

  Emotions rioted within her shame at her inability to be a good wife, embarrassment that she had neglected to put out a simple meal before they arrived and had to watch them eat ham, cheese and milk for their noon meal. Annette always had a hot meal ready, but vanity had kept Lydia from her task. Silently she asked God to forgive her pride and selfishness.

  Fear that she was none of the things Jakob expected of a wife came out the victor. Exhaustion, too, took its toll, and tears threatened.

  Johann finished his second sandwich and pushed away from the table, thanking her. Jakob and his brothers followed him out the door. Emily offered her an escape. "I'll clean up. You go change," she offered.

  Lydia took advantage of the rare opportunity. The hateful reflection in the mirror was more than she could bear. She hastily pinned up her hair and pulled on a clean white cap.

  She had to get away. She needed some time to herself. Time away from this house and the contents and inhabitants that reminded her of her difference at every turn.

  She walked in the opposite direction from the men and spotted a stand of trees beyond the outbuildings. It was a fair walk, and when she reached the shade she turned and looked back on the house and yard. The line full of clothes flapped accusingly in the warm breeze. They were probably dry, and she should be folding them.

  Tears she'd held back during dinner erupted in a wave of anguish. She cried for fear that she was a poor substitute for the woman Jakob had really wanted to marry. She sobbed the frustration she fought at every turn, and somewhere during the sobs she cried out her homesickness for Faith and her grandmother, miles away. Had she done the right thing, coming here? Jakob would likely grow weary of her incompetence and wish he'd never brought her.

  Lord help her, she had enjoyed last night. She had enjoyed her husband's hands on her skin, the closeness, the incredible beauty of the way God had created her to be his wife. She craved him. His touch. His smell. She'd felt wonderful... wanton...

  Jakob had been sorry.

  Respectable women don't enjoy seduction?

  She was obviously not a respectable woman. Jakob's reaction had confirmed her initial fears that wanting him was sinful. She had lured him, knowing he wouldn't resist, and now he resented her for it.

  In the shade of an ancient hemlock, she knelt and prayed out her anguish. Drawing strength from her Lord, she set off determinedly for the house. She couldn't do anything about her hair now. It would grow, but like everything else she faced, it would take time.

  She couldn't change last night. She wasn't Sylvie, the woman he'd wanted first, but she was here. She would make the best of things and fit in. She would find a way to please her husband. And she would find a way to visit her family in Accord.

  Chapter 12

  "It's so hot Jessie's fleas aren't biting."

  Jakob paused in his Saturday chores and sat beside Lydia on the shaded side porch. At her feet sat a basket of apples, and two more waited near the back door. The task took little physical effort, and in the July heat Lydia welcomed a chore in the shade. A trickle of perspiration rolled down her spine under her gray dress and apron.

  "This is a good time to take a job on the steel bridge," Jakob said. "It'll be at least another six weeks before the crops are ready, and I can earn a sizable amount by then."

  Lydia's gaze jerked up from the apple she was peeling. This was it. She had hoped against hope he wouldn't take a job. If things were more comfortable between them, would he want to leave so soon?

  She studied him. Earlier, he'd discarded his shirt. It was distracting to see her husband and his equally brawny brothers in a constant state of half undress. They never came in for meals without shirts, but the first several times she had come upon them in the yard, she hadn't known where to look. Now she allowed herself to admire the tawny mat of hair on Jakob's tanned chest, the well-toned muscles under the sleek golden skin of his upper arms and the long-fingered hands resting idly on the thighs of his dirty dungarees.

  Her gaze lifted and found him watching her. Heat tingled in her cheeks. "You will leave soon?" she asked as a distraction.

  "At the barn dance tonight, I'll ask where the bridges are going up."

  She looked back at the knife in her hand, and resumed peeling apples. She didn't want him to leave her here, but what could she do? Obviously he'd made up his mind about earning money for their house.

  Lydia was lonely already. If he was leaving for several weeks, she needed to see Grandmother. A pesky fly buzzed, circling Lydia's ear, and she waved it away. "To you I want to talk about something."

  Jakob leaned over and plucked several slices of fruit from the bucket at her side. "Hmm?"

  "I would like you to teach me to ride Freida."

  He chewed and studied her. She'd never asked anything of him before.

  "If I could ride, I could visit my family."

  "You can't ride all that way
alone. It's not safe. Anything could happen."

  "What could happen?"

  "You could fall and get hurt. It could be a long time before anyone found you."

  "You could fall when you ride, too, but that does not stop you."

  "That's different. I've ridden my whole life."

  "There had to be a first time."

  "Other things could happen. The whole world isn't good and God-fearing like the people where you were raised."

  "But, Jakob—"

  "Lydia, you're beginning to sound like—"

  Expectantly she waited for his next words. "Like what?"

  He sat forward testily in the wooden chair. "Like a wife."

  The paring knife fell still in her lap. Seeing the telltale muscle in his cheek jerk, she knew it was unwise to argue. "If you intended to insult me, you did not. I'm proud to be your wife. I'm only sorry to constantly anger you."

  Worry, and something else, shifted behind his eyes. His stubbornness annoyed her. Lydia turned her attention to the task before her. The silence lengthened. Had her persistence pushed him too far? Well, she'd discovered she could be stubborn, too. She'd never known that before. Peelings dropped into her lap. The knife made a crisp sound each time it sliced through the apple. Jessie appeared after a nap in the shade, and padded sluggishly across the porch, giving Lydia wide berth.

  Finally, Jakob scooted his chair closer. He reached across the remaining space, placed the knife on her apron and pulled her hand to his face. He pressed the backs of her fingers against his lean cheek.

  "I didn't intend to insult you. Es tut mir leid." He said the words in German against her knuckles.

  The moment stretched poignantly into the sultry summer afternoon. What an intimate thing it was to have her fingers against his lips, his warm breath creating a foolish flutter in her breast. His fair eyes were an icy contrast to his deeply tanned skin. He kissed her fingers, tasted each, turned her hand over and kissed a spot in her palm that aroused a tightness low in her abdomen.

  "Mmm, you taste good. A little cinnamon and you could be a strudel." She smiled, and he tugged her hand until she leaned toward him. "Mad at me?"

 

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